Terror From the Skies
by bythesea
Summary: Complete. A Hardy Boys historical case file. It's 1937 and the storm clouds of war are darkening Europe. A Nazi scientist goes missing and the Hardy Boys investigate.
1. Chapter 1

The speck emerged from the low gray clouds and grew steadily in the distance. "There it is!" shouted Chet Morton triumphantly. He pointed his arm to the north, joining hundreds of other waving arms in the crowd. Frank and Joe Hardy glanced briefly at the grin lighting up their friend's face before looking off into the distance again. The skirt of cloud had lifted in the west and the late afternoon sun bathed the advancing object in a golden light. "The LZ129, the largest zeppelin that has ever flown!" Chet could not help announcing. He never had a doubt that the airship would arrive sooner or later, though delayed by several hours because of unfavorable weather over the Atlantic, but Chet had been keen to bring his friends to the Naval air station, so that every minute of waiting had made him more anxious.

Joe Hardy, younger by a year of the two famous sleuthing Hardy brothers, was mesmerized by the sight of the gigantic airship. It was scarcely believable that something the size of an ocean liner could float through the air. It moved with a solemn steadiness as befitted the unchallenged master of its aerial realm. Joe imagined that a whale might swim through the ocean depths with the same sort of majesty. As the airship approached minute by minute, its grand scale became ever clearer. The men in the ground crew were reduced to insect-like proportions. Every detail of the airborne giant provoked a twinge of joy in the heart of the young Hardy: the sleek, streamlined shape of its hull; the silvery covering fabric; even the steady, powerful drone of the four engines.

"Don't let Iola catch you looking at another girl that way," joked Frank. The tragically doomed Iola Morton was Joe's favorite date and Chet's sister.

Joe scarcely noticed the gibe. "One of these days I'm going to take Iola for a flight in that thing," he said dreamily.

"Lucky girl!" said Chet. "It's four hundred dollars for a round-trip ticket."

"That's three months' wages for a working man," mused Frank.

If Frank had been inclined to be captivated by the airship as his brother was, one prominent feature would have broken the spell. On the zeppelin's massive upper and lower vertical fins were boldly painted black swastikas in white circles against red backgrounds. The swastikas had to be forty feet in diameter. "This is a flying billboard for the Nazi regime," Frank muttered under his breath. For a moment, he imagined the waiting crowd at the airfield as a grandiose open-air political rally.

Chet smiled to think that one of his friends had caught "zeppelin fever" as he had. "Look at those engines driving the four propellers. They're five hundred and sixty seven horsepower Daimler-Benz diesels. They drive the zeppelin to a top speed of eighty miles per hour. Imagine that!"

The LZ129 was within a few hundred feet of the mooring mast, a black, truncated version of the Eiffel Tower. The engines were turned off. Two heavy rope lines were dropped from the nose of the zeppelin to be taken up by the men of the ground crew. These were mostly uniformed Navy men but there were also civilians, eager for a bit of work in those difficult times. The airship hovered some two hundred feet above the flat sandy surface of the field. As the boys stood in the pale sunlight they watched the men heaving on the ropes, dragging down the nose of the airship. At the belly of the great vessel the boys could see the ship's officers in the control cabin.

"It was worth the fifty-mile drive to get to this airfield," Frank conceded. "I'm surprised there aren't more people here."

"Yes, well, last year there were huge crowds," replied Chet. "And you can't imagine the number of press. They were all fighting over the phones to file their stories! But this year it's just routine transportation. That's the way it should be. There's going to be a whole fleet of zeppelins like this one. They'll build terminals in all the major cities in the world. This is just the beginning of the zeppelin age! I can tell you now, it's the future of aviation in the twentieth century!"

Joe felt his chest swell with a sense of well-being. How fortunate he felt to be living at this historical moment, to bear witness to this age of technological marvels.

"All these technological marvels are great," said Frank, "but aren't we supposed to be meeting your friend?" He turned to Chet, who was a trifle embarrassed.

"He's not really a close friend. I met him through my interest in rocketry. He's a graduate engineering student at New York University. He asked me if I was interested in meeting a German scientist coming on this flight."

"Ooh, is he one of those creepy Nazi scientists with a metal hand?" said Joe breaking into a broad grin. "Is he working on some top secret weapons project?"

"Um, I don't think he has a metal hand."

"I was joking, Chet."

"He is working on rockets, though."

The brothers looked at their friend seriously. "Perhaps we shouldn't be talking about this in the open," said Frank.

There was a furrow on the brow of Chet's soft and pleasant face. "Let's go to the arrivals building." The element of secrecy and international intrigue in the matter had not occurred to him.

The building used as a waiting area for passengers was a drab structure with concrete-block walls and a steel roof. The walls were painted that glossy industrial shade of off-white familiar to generations of school children. As Chet had explained, the Naval base was a makeshift facility and would some day be replaced by a suitably luxurious zeppelin terminal. Frank was struck by the contrast to the posh crowd assembled within. The men had woolen overcoats that looked like they had just been in the drycleaner. Their hats appeared never to have been touched by a bead of rain or a mote of dust. Many of the women wore fur or fur-trimmed jackets. Frank smelled the mingled scents of perfume and eau de Cologne.

"There's Craig Shelbourne," said Chet, pointing out a small young man. He had closely-cropped red hair and small blue eyes. The boys went over and Chet made the necessary introductions. Shelbourne, in turn, introduced the two men seated beside him. The older one was short and compactly built. He was bald at the top of his head with curly graying hair on the sides. Frank thought he looked like a harried academic, with more important things to think about than the state of his dress. This was Erwin Coville, chair of the engineering department. The younger man was in his mid-thirties, a tall, lanky man with wire-rimmed glasses. His blond hair was combed over and plastered down rather severely, leaving a straight, pink line of exposed scalp. He was introduced as Professor Martin Lombard.

A trickle of passengers entered the arrivals building, having passed through U.S. Customs. The boys did not have to wait long for their expected guest, Professor Otto Heinze. A sailor was helping him with his two large suitcases. He carried his own battered, brown leather briefcase. He smiled warmly to see them and lifted his hat in greeting, revealing dark wavy hair. Joe thought that Heinze's brown eyes were very expressive. He certainly did not fit any stereotype of the sinister Nazi scientist. Joe made a mental note to himself not to read so many comic books.

"How was the trip, Otto?" asked Prof. Coville, shaking the German's hand with gruff affection.

"Beautiful! It is so smooth you cannot realize you are moving. We went through a storm front, even, with hardly any disturbance."

"The views over New York City must have been breathtaking."

"Yes, we flew very low. But I am even more delighted by the ever-changing play of light on the ocean waves. It inspires the creative imagination."

"And the food? I hear it's as good as an expensive restaurant," questioned Chet eagerly.

"Indeed! There's a fine selection of wines and liquors as well," Heinze answered, sharing Chet's enthusiasm. He grinned and Frank thought he and Lombard exchanged a look.

"What about the smoking lounge?" continued Chet, speaking rapidly. "I understand the walls are all metal and they're insulated with asbestos so there can't be a fire."

"I wouldn't know about that," Heinze laughed, putting a hand on Chet's shoulder.

"Your English is excellent, Mr. Heinze," said Joe.

"I was a student in America for some years. I did graduate studies at New York University. One of my teachers was this fine gentleman, Prof. Coville, and Martin was a classmate."

"Don't be so formal, Otto. You're not my student now. Call me Erwin." Coville gave his former student a pat on the back.

Lombard was scanning the waiting room crowd with an clinical eye. Frank followed his gaze but didn't think that anyone else in the room showed the slightest interest in them. They were all preoccupied with their own family reunions or already taking their luggage out the exit.

Lombard said cooly, "Professor, I would happier if we made a change to our plans and drove Otto all the way into the city."

"But we've already reserved tickets for the train. He's just arrived! Surely you don't expect anything to happen so soon?"

"No, but all the same…"

Professor Coville turned to Chet. "You will make it to Dr. Heinze's public lecture on Wednesday, won't you?"

"I've got it circled on my calendar! Room 109 of the engineering building on the University Heights campus, eight p.m."

"We'd better let you and your friends go then. You have a long drive ahead of you."


	2. Chapter 2

Chet Morton's car hummed through the New Jersey night. This latest version of 'Queenie', the nickname he gave all his cars, was a lovingly-repaired 1928 Durant coach. The Hardy boys shared their friend's affection for the machine. There was something about the swelling black curves of its fenders and the lemon-yellow body, smooth and glossy as a candy coating, that were irresistible.

Joe, sitting in the back seat, put his face to the open window and felt the rush of cool air take his breath away. He loved drives through the countryside. He loved the smell of the meadowlands mixed with a hint of salt sea air.

"Some day, everyone in America will have a car," said Chet. "Won't that be great?"

"Yeah, but then the roads would be jam-packed with cars," warned a skeptical Frank. "They'd have to widen the roads to eight, ten lanes and it still won't be enough. We'll all be stuck in traffic, crawling along. And from the highways you won't be able to see the country. There'll be billboards and cheap motels blocking the view."

Joe laughed. "You're such a pessimist, brother." He looked out the window. The road was brushing the coastline. He felt like shouting,"The world is young! We're young! The moon is rising over the Atlantic and we don't have to worry about school because we're on spring break!"

In front of the College of Engineering building at New York University's West Bronx campus a line of students was marching back and forth carrying picket signs. From the messages it was clear that they were protesting the university's involvement with Prof. Heinze. They said such things as, "No collaboration with Nazis", "Kill German millitarization before it kills us", and "Heinze puts the weapons in the Fascist butchers' hands". Frank suspected there was only one "L" in "militarization". As the Hardys and Chet mounted the front steps, protesters pressed leaflets into their hands. Frank snatched a brief glimpse at his leaftlet. Responsibility for the protest was claimed by a group calling itself 'The Student Anti-Fascist Coalition'. At the bottom there was an invitation to another protest, planned for a meeting of 'The German-American Alliance' on Friday.

"Vanished? How is that possible?" Chet Morton was in the hallway standing in front of the wide metal door to lecture hall 109.

Craig Shelbourne stood beside the door. "Prof. Heinze contacted the department yesterday and said the public lecture had to be cancelled. We tried to phone him but he wasn't in. Today, Prof. Lombard went to see him in his hotel room but no one was there."

Frank Hardy stepped forward. "Let's not get alarmed. I'm sure there's a simple explanation."

"I think you should see Prof. Coville," said the red-headed student. "He's in his office one floor up. It's room 212. The stairs are over there."

"Aren't you coming with us?"

Craig looked apologetic. "No, I should stay here. Somebody should be here if there are questions." He fumbled nervously in his pocket for a packet of cigarettes and matches. They watched him light up. In the meantime, people came up to the metal door, read the notice taped to it, and turned to leave. Most were students but Joe also noticed an older man with short gray hair wearing a black trenchcoat.

Prof. Coville was behind his desk and speaking to Martin Lombard when they came to the open door. The office was crammed with tall bookcases and metal file cabinets. Most of one wall was a blackboard. Books, file folders, notebooks and loose sheets of paper flowed from Prof. Coville's ample desk over every available horizontal surface, including the top of the ornate brass radiator. Frank thought it was a modest office for such an important figure.

"Come in, come in. No doubt Mr. Shelbourne has already described the situation to you." Prof. Coville wore his anxiety clearly on his face. He hurriedly stubbed out his cigarette in a glass ashtray.

"You don't think something unfortunate has happened to Dr. Heinze, do you?" asked Frank.

"We have reasons for grave concern for Otto." Prof. Coville paused to consider.

"Professor," interjected Lombard, "might we not take advantage of the fortuitous connection these boys have with the matter and ask them to make use of their well-known expertise?"

"Yes, certainly, Martin. Well, everyone's heard of the Hardy Boys and their adventures. I don't live under a rock, you know. Under a pile of books, maybe." He chuckled at his own joke.

"We'd be happy to do anything we can to help," volunteered Joe. He observed that Prof. Coville spoke with animation and emphasis in his words. The professor must enjoy giving lectures, he thought. On the other hand, Lombard was bland and precise. He sounded like an engineer.

"Good. Now, as for Otto, what we know is that he is part of a top secret research group. We can assume that they are working on rocket weapons. Otto has told us that the purpose of his trip to the United States is to tap into the expertise of certain other researchers in this country, including Martin here. We have been advised by the State Department not to cooperate if it aids weapons development. Now you may know that there are groups in this country who fear and revile the threat they believe Germany poses. They would not hesitate to threaten or harm Dr. Heinze if they felt it would hinder German militarization."

"Have you received any threats?" Frank inquired.

"Not as yet. We have tried to keep the significance of Dr. Heinze's visit under wraps. As far as the public knows, it's a normal academic exchange. He'll give public lectures, hold some seminars for students, that sort of thing.

"However," Prof. Coville continued, "that is only part of the picture. There are some of his own people who believe that this explanation of the motive behind the trip is only a ruse. They suspect that Otto intends to deliver his work and his knowledge to us, the United States. They think, in other words, that he is a traitor. Otto said that he felt sure his mail was being read, his telephone conversations monitored, and that some of the people he works with on a daily basis are, in fact, agents of his government."

"You've spelled it out very clearly for us," Joe commented.

"We're grateful for your trust," added Frank.

"About the specifics of the case," Joe continued, "what exactly did Mr. Heinze say when he cancelled the lecture?"

"Ah, I'm afraid I can't tell you," answered Prof. Coville. "He phoned the department and left a message."

"You didn't actually hear his voice. That's interesting."

"He apparently didn't give any reason for the cancellation."

Joe turned to Prof. Lombard. "I know it's an obvious point but you seemed concerned about the trip from the air base into town. Did you notice anyone following you? Was there anything suspicious?"

"No, we certainly didn't notice anything. But I might add, someone could easily have been waiting for us at a road junction near town and joined the stream of traffic. There would have been too much traffic at that point for us to notice one car."

"You last saw Mr. Heinze…?"

Prof. Coville answered. "On Monday. He came to the department. We had lunch and chatted. Martin let it be known that we weren't at liberty to help him with any of his technical problems. He was disappointed but his spirits seemed cheerful."

"He didn't give any indication at the time that he had been threatened or was afraid?"

"Not at all. As I say, he seemed quite cheerful."

"Did he say what he planned to do the next day?"

"No, he didn't."

"Fellows, I'll have to get going now." Chet gave a quick wave and started to back out of the room. "Please stay in touch. I want to hear the rest of this case." The Hardy brothers were dismayed that in their concentration on the facts being presented to them they had forgotten about their friend

"Is it possible," asked Frank, turning his attention back to Prof. Coville, "that we could see Mr. Heinze's hotel room tonight?"

"I'd be happy to take them," said Lombard rising from his chair. "I managed to convince the front desk clerk to admit me to the room this afternoon. I'm sure there will be no objections."

"Let us phone home and let our parents know," said Frank. "I think we'll have to stay in a hotel in the city until we get to the bottom of Mr. Heinze's disappearance."

"I'm sure we can find some way to pay for your expenses out of the department's budget," Prof. Coville hastened to add.

"Luckily, it's spring break and we have time for this," said Joe. Secretly, he was much happier being on a case than sitting in a lecture hall, even for a topic he might have been interested in.


	3. Chapter 3

The three of them passed the doorman and, one by one, went through the brass-sheathed revolving doors of the Tuscany Hotel. Joe grinned to think that the burly doorman, clad in his long maroon coat and black top hat, had looked over him and his brother and ignored them as they had entered. Evidently he had decided they were too smartly dressed to be panhandlers, pickpockets, or muggers, and not well enough dressed to be gangsters.

The interior of the hotel was opulent. The tall columns, floor and counters were clad in a creamy marble with yellow veins, polished to a high gleam. Massive chandeliers hung over the lobby. Martin Lombard went to the counter and spoke to the desk clerk. The clerk took a key and led them to the automatic elevator.

Their footsteps sank noiselessly into the thick pile of the carpet in the third floor corridor. As they rounded a corner they spied a man bent over the doorknob of one of the rooms, trying to force the lock with a metal tool. The man looked up with alarm. Immediately he ran for the stairway. He almost leapt down the steps in his haste and swung himself around the landing using the finial on the wooden railing.

Frank and Joe were quickly in pursuit. Joe's long, graceful strides took him down the stairs but he could not close the distance on the shorter but strongly-built quarry. On the ground floor Joe spun to see which way the would-be burglar had gone. There was a side entrance available that was closer than the main entrance and didn't involve passing through the lobby. The pursued man was through the double glass doors. Joe heard the squealing of car tires on the street outside. Shoving the doors open himself, Joe could only watch the man climb into a blue DeSoto coupe at the curb and slam the door shut. The car drove off. Joe saw the man make a mocking little wave behind the glass. Joe grimaced. His brother soon joined him atop the broad concrete steps at the entrance.

"If only the hotel room had been on a higher floor I would have caught him."

"I have a feeling that guy's made some close escapes before. We all got a good look at him but I don't think it'll help much."

"White, mid-twenties, five-foot-seven maybe," Joe recited, without much enthusiasm. "Brown tweed cap, seaman's jacket, nothing very distinctive. He had gloves on too, so I don't expect to find any prints."

"Most likely he's a thug for hire. It won't be easy to trace him. And the license plate was removed from the car. Let's get back to Heinze's room."

Lombard was waiting for them inside the room the burglar was trying to break into. The outcome of their pursuit was plain on the brothers' faces. The Hardys described the disappointing situation. Lombard said, "The clerk let me in and phoned the front desk. I guess they had time to get men to the front door but not to cover the side exits."

Frank thought out loud. "Anybody who went to the lecture tonight would have known that there was something going on with Prof. Heinze. They could easily have reached the hotel just before us."

"He had registered under an assumed name," said Lombard, "but I don't suppose it would have been too difficult to find his hotel. His visit to the United States wasn't a secret, after all."

With that episode seemingly at a dead end the boys turned their attention to the purpose of their visit to the hotel room.

"I can assure you that I left the room exactly as I found it this morning," Lombard said.

The room had that melancholy emptiness of a place that was missing its usual inhabitant. Frank and Joe looked over the room with practiced eyes. Two suitcases sat on the carpet. One was unzippered and some clothes had been hastily folded and laid on top of the unused clothing. There were slippers on the floor but no shoes. In the closet hung a suit, but not the one the boys had seen in the arrivals building.

"We'd better not disturb the room," mentioned Joe for Lombard's benefit. "If the police need to be brought into this, they would appreciate it."

"The bed's been made," noted Frank. "We'll have to check with the hotel staff to confirm that the bed was slept in Tuesday night. I expect the chambermaid went about her duties this morning, not suspecting anything."

On the desk was the local telephone directory. It had been left open. Frank took note of the page number, too scrupulous to simply tear out the pages. Also on the desk was a map of New York City and its surrounding area. It had been folded against its original folds and left lying fairly flat on the desk with one of its rectangular panels facing up.

"It's showing the East Bronx," said Frank. "I wonder why Heinze would be interested in that area?"

The Hardys had stopped to purchase white cotton gloves and envelopes in case there were any clues they wanted to remove from the scene. They put on the gloves now to open all the drawers in the dresser and the desk. In the topmost drawer of the desk they found a telegram.

"Looks like a telegram sent from Heidelberg, Germany," observed Joe. "It's addressed to Otto Heinze at the hotel. The date on it is yesterday. It's in German."

Lombard looked over the younger Hardy's shoulder. "Lotte Heinze, the sender, is Otto's wife." Lombard's face showed the faintest simmering of excitement as he read the telegram. "It says that she wishes to have a divorce from him."

The boys' faces registered their thoughtful states of mind. After a pause Frank asked, "Would that have come as a surprise to Prof. Heinze?"

"I couldn't say. I didn't know anything about the state of their marriage."

The boys continued their patient examination of the room. Lombard lost interest and sat down in the armchair. After some time he asked, "Is it going to be much longer?"

"Not much," replied Frank. "There's this brown shopping bag on the floor. It has 'Marv's Sporting Goods' printed on it. We'll track that down tomorrow. The chambermaid has been efficient, unfortunately for us, and the waste paper baskets have been emptied. There aren't any cash register receipts. I guess that's about it, unless my brother has found something."

Joe came out of the bathroom shaking his head. "There doesn't seem to be anything interesting in there. His safety razor, toothbrush, etc. have been left on the counter."

"All the same," said Lombard, "there would appear to be no lack of what you would call clues."

"Yes, you're quite right," responded Frank, pausing a moment to consider this.

"I should be taking you boys to your hotel now."

For a moment, Joe felt like asking if they couldn't stay at this hotel, but then thought better of it. A hotel like this probably wouldn't have a room for less than six dollars a night. He figured the university engineering department budget wasn't established to pay for teenage boys to stay at a posh Manhattan hotel, especially if those boys weren't employees or on an official contract. "There's a hotel our family often stays at when they're in town."

"Very good. Tomorrow you can come to my office and tell me what your findings are so far."


	4. Chapter 4

Hazy sunlight streamed through the blinds of the office's small window. Joe and Frank Hardy sat facing Martin Lombard across his desk. It was one p.m. and they were meeting in his office as agreed to.

"Now, boys, what answers have you found?"

"Sir, shouldn't we be telling this to Prof. Coville too?" questioned Frank.

"He's in class all afternoon."

"We heard sounds coming from his office just now as we went past," said Joe. "Quite loud ones too, like furniture being moved."

Lombard snapped to attention. Without a further word he jumped out of his seat and headed for the door. The Hardy boys were at his heels.

"Prof. Coville, are you in there?" Lombard called. He rapped on the door. There was no response. The door had a corrugated glass window. There was no light turned on in the office but they could see shadowy movement inside. Lombard turned the doorknob. If they were expecting to find the man who had attempted to burgle Heinze's hotel room they would have been surprised. Craig Shelbourne, with a slight grin of embarrassment, stood before them.

"What are you doing in there, Shelbourne?" snapped Lombard. It was the most expression the brothers had yet seen in the cool, impassive engineer.

"I thought I left some of my papers in the office. I got the spare key from the receptionist. I started looking at a magazine article lying on the desk and I guess I lost track of time."

Frank looked to see if Shelbourne's slightly freckled face showed any signs of a blush but he couldn't detect anything. Lombard glared suspiciously at the research assistant for a moment before turning away. The Hardys surreptitiously scanned the room without moving from the same spot. File folders were strewn about. The professor's appointment book had been flipped to a day two weeks ago. The room had clearly been searched. Frank had to smile as he thought to himself, "If this guy was looking for a particular piece of paper and he didn't already know where it was it would take days to go through all the stuff in this room."

They were soon back in Lombard's office. "You were going to tell me about your investigations before we were interrupted."

Frank said, "I'd like to recommend that we bring this matter to the attention of the local police. I realize Mr. Heinze hasn't been missing very long but there are certainly reasons to be afraid for him. If one person knew where he was staying then so could others."

"Very well, if you think so. Go on."

Frank began. "As you said, there were a good number of interesting clues in the hotel room. To begin with, that page in the phone directory contains the number of the Checkered Cab Company. That's what leapt out at me. Of course there are many other numbers on that page, which we'll have to consider if the clue about the cab company doesn't check out. I contacted them but they wouldn't release any information to me about fares that they picked up at the hotel. That's something we'll need the cooperation of the police for.

"The street map shows a portion of the East Bronx, specifically the eastern shoreline and Long Island Sound. It's too big an area to search even with the help of the police. It would be pointless unless we knew more.

"I talked to the hotel staff. The bed was, in fact, slept in Tuesday night. Mr. Heinze did not make or receive any long distance phone calls at the hotel. Oh, and he left his shoes in the hallway to be polished Tuesday night. Nothing suspicious or unusual was reported for him or for that floor of the hotel.

"Everything about the hotel room indicates that Mr. Heinze left with no intention of spending the night anywhere else. He didn't take his shaving kit, or any other clothes. But he did take his briefcase."

"Ah, yes. That was missing from the hotel room."

Joe occupied himself with examining Prof. Lombard's office as his brother spoke. There was very little personal about the room. On the desk was a silver frame with photographs of a woman, presumably Lombard's wife, and two blond-haired boys. There was a tennis trophy in the form of crossed tennis racquets. On the bookshelf was a camera, the old-fashioned kind with an extension bellows between the lens and the back. Joe noticed a rectangle on the wall that was a shade darker than the surrounding yellow paint.

It was Joe's turn to speak. "I followed up on the shopping bag. It's from a small sporting goods store not far from the hotel. It's a good thing it's small because the sales clerk remembered a man fitting the description I gave of Mr. Heinze. He bought a small baseball glove on Tuesday."

Lombard's face, which had a look of deep concentration, gave a wry grin. "Are you sure that wasn't a mistake?"

Joe grinned. "The clerk was pretty sure so I guess I am too. Too bad we don't have the sales receipt."

"Finally, what do you make of the telegram from Lotte Heinze?" Lombard leaned forward, showing some eager anticipation.

The boys were silent for a while. Frank said, "I can imagine how a man just arrived in a foreign country would find it very disturbing to find out that his wife no longer wished to be married to him."

"You think that it points to suicide?"

"Now hold it right there," objected Joe. "That's a mighty big leap to a conclusion."

"Admittedly so. But it would be a striking coincidence, don't you think?"

The interview ended at that point as no one had any more answers.

The brothers spoke quietly to one another in the corridor. "So, do you think Shelbourne left his papers in Prof. Coville's office?" Joe asked with a smirk.

"It's possible."

"I'm guessing the guy thinks there's a clue to Heinze's disappearance in there."

"And maybe there is."

"That would mean Prof. Coville is holding out on us."

Frank shrugged. "It's something to keep in mind. If we need to, we'll do our own search of the office."


	5. Chapter 5

Out the window to the left were the stern Gothic buildings of Fordham University, uniformed in gray stone. Ahead was Bronx Park with the zoo on the right of the road and the botanical gardens to the left. Joe Hardy liked to know where he was and where he was going. He wasn't especially familiar with New York but he peered now and then at the street map he had purchased after seeing the one in Heinze's room. He leaned back into the comfortable back seat of Prof. Coville's Packard sedan. His brother was in the front seat.

The normally good-humored professor did not speak much during the drive. He seemed focused on the road but Frank suspected he was preoccupied by the question of why the police would ask him to meet them in Pelham Bay Park. It had only been hours earlier that the police had concluded their interviews at the university. The broad Pelham Parkway took them quickly through a residential district of wood-frame houses to the wide forested expanses of the park. The early evening sunlight glittered on the fresh green leaves. It was tranquil in the park on a weekday evening. Prof. Coville pulled his car into a parking lot. There were police cars there waiting for him.

A man in a gray raincoat with a black fedora stepped out from a group of uniformed and non-uniformed police officers. He had a broad, friendly face. Frank guessed he might be in his mid-thirties.

"Good evening, Lieutenant Korman," Prof. Coville greeted the officer. "I didn't expect to hear back from you so soon."

"Good evening to you, professor. It's a short walk to the shoreline from here." Lt. Korman led them along a winding path that ran through a grassy picnic area. The other police stayed by their cars. "We contacted the cab company and got the information we were looking for. They picked up a man giving his name as Heinze and matching his description Wednesday morning and brought him here."

"That fits with the map we found in his hotel room," noted Joe.

"This is an enormous park, as you know. We had men starting from the parking lot and working their way toward the shore."

As they reached the waters of Eastchester Bay they were greeted by the loud cries of seagulls wheeling about in the sky as if trying to catch the last yellow rays of sunshine. Prof. Coville looked tense, like a man girding himself for something unpleasant but unavoidable. They followed the lieutenant to a long wooden pier that extended out into the sea. Joe imagined that it was used for fishing. It was a little dilapidated and Joe eyed it warily. "Don't worry," said Lt. Korman with a smile, "you won't fall through. Our boys check all this stuff every year for safety." There were strollers on the long shoreline but the pier was deserted, except that near the other end stood a uniformed policeman in his long coat. As their strides took them over the weather-worn gray planks they could see that the policeman stood guard over a small pile of clothing.

"This is what we found," said the lieutenant sadly, almost apologetically. He knelt down and touched a raincoat. Lifting it aside, he revealed a jacket.

"It certainly looks like the one worn by Otto," said Prof. Coville.

"What are you saying?" Joe looked squarely at Lt. Korman. "That he jumped off the pier and killed himself?" Joe could not reconcile the animated man he had met at the air station with the notion of suicide.

The lieutenant was unruffled by Joe's incredulity. "We know about the telegram from his wife. Suppose it came as a sudden shock to him. He's arrived across the Atlantic. He feels he's been abandoned. It must have been a spur of the moment decision."

Prof. Coville emitted a long sigh and cleared his throat. "It isn't like the Otto Heinze I know, but then I have been apart from him for some eight years." He looked gravely down at the waters of the bay flecked with golden light.

Frank looked around at the low, distant silhouette of land that was Long Island; the rest of Pelham Bay Park across a causeway; the cottages, boatsheds and shipyards of City Island. It all seemed hundreds of miles away from the bustling metropolis. "Mr. Heinze had a keen appreciation of the sea. Remember what he said about the zeppelin flight? Maybe this is where he chose to make an end of it."

Lt. Korman nodded. "His passport is in his coat pocket. There's no question who these clothes belong to, wouldn't you gentlemen agree?"

Frank turned from viewing the waters of Long Island Sound to announce, "There's something missing. His briefcase wasn't in the hotel room."

Joe's eyes flashed with inspiration and some vehemence. "What if Heinze came down here to meet someone, someone who killed him and made off with the briefcase?"

"Now look here young man, you haven't a shred of evidence for that kind of speculation."

"What if someone met Heinze here and kidnapped him?" suggested Frank.

Lt. Korman did not argue. "I'm going to get a dive team here and look around. We'll settle this."

"What if they don't find anything?" asked Frank.

The lieutenant shrugged his broad shoulders. "I don't have unlimited time or an unlimited budget to chase down missing German scientists. For all I know he could have high-tailed it back to his Führer."

"Have you paid any attention to what Prof. Coville and Prof. Lombard said about him?" demanded Joe.

"Easy, Joe," said his brother. "Let the dive team have its chance. Lieutenant, is there a possibility a witness saw what happened on the pier?"

"We'll release this story to the press. I'll have any witnesses contact me. But you can guess that this is a pretty quiet spot on a Wednesday morning at this time of year."

"You must also direct your men to search for the documents, the ones that were in the briefcase." Prof. Coville made the request firmly.

"Could you be clearer as to what they were?" asked Lt. Korman.

"Otto did not show them to me but he said he had brought complete sets of drawings of the designs that he and his group were working on."

"He could have taken them with him into the bay," said the police officer.

"Or he could have discarded them somewhere in the park. I insist you conduct a proper search."

On the sombre drive back from the park Joe could not help asking the professor, "Is there anything you know about Mr. Heinze's disappearance you haven't been telling us?"

The professor's face was set in a mask as he stared grimly ahead at the road. Joe thought he might lose his temper but, after a pause, he said gruffly, "I assure you that I've told you the truth as I know it."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so blunt."

"It's understandable to be emotional in the face of death. It is such a terrible loss and so unexpected."

"I wouldn't go into mourning yet," admonished Frank. "There are some small points that make me suspicious."

"Please continue," urged Prof. Coville.

"I hope I'm not making too much of little things, but remember that the hotel staff told us Mr. Heinze left his shoes for polishing on Tuesday night? Why would a man contemplating suicide have his shoes polished? Of course, I can understand the force of habit. Perhaps having shiny shoes made him feel better."

"It would make more sense if he intended to meet somebody," the younger Hardy suggested. The others nodded.

"Then there's the matter of the long-distance phone calls," continued Frank.

"But there _were_ no long-distance phone calls."

"Just what I mean. I can't believe that after receiving the telegram from his wife he wouldn't try to contact her. That's especially the case if it came as a surprise."

"For a man supposedly so broken up by his wife leaving him, he didn't even have a photograph of her in his luggage," added Joe.

"Maybe he had a small one in his wallet, but I take your point."

Prof. Coville smiled. It was not a large smile but it radiated warmth. "Thank you, young man, for giving me reason to hope. I admire you for keeping a cool head at this time."

"I think our investigation is not over, not by a long shot."


	6. Chapter 6

Joe liked the early mornings in Manhattan. From the dawn hours coffee shops and diners were ready to perk up his appetite with the smells of coffee, bacon, and fried eggs. In front of countless shops men in dark blue aprons were hosing down the wide sidewalks and sweeping up the litter of the previous day. Joe imagined the sound of millions of pairs of scuffling shoes as workers converged on midtown Manhattan each morning. The gray facades of office blocks were slashed diagonally by knife-sharp shadows cast by other buildings. On every block it seemed that a modern tower would thrust out of the shadowy stone canyons like a plant seeking sunlight and its windows would be dazzling with the reflection of the morning light.

Across the street from the boys' hotel a man in a wide brown cap sold newspapers and magazines at a newsstand. The boys glanced at the headlines.

"The latest news from the war in Spain!" cried the man in a voice louder than conversational but without much hope of distracting the throng of hurrying pedestrians on the sidewalk. Joe smiled to think how fast the New Yorkers walked. They always seemed to be in a hurry about something. It would take him years of living here to get used to the pace. "Nationalist offensive stalls!" He added, "Yankees win 7-2 over Washington Senators." He nodded at the brothers. "How about it boys, got to keep up on public affairs."

The brothers smiled politely and walked on. "Those Yankees are going to be a great team this year," said Joe. "I bet they can win a hundred games."

"You'd rather think about baseball than the war."

"You bet! Who wouldn't cheer for Joe DiMaggio? He's something special. I think he's the best home-run hitter in the American League."

"The Germans and Italians have tens of thousands of regular troops in Spain. What chance do volunteers like the Abraham Lincoln Brigade have? Nobody but communists and anarchists are willing to support the legitimate government in Spain," said Frank grimly.

"Yeah, I know. All the governments that should be taking a stand are washing their hands of it. You don't need to lecture me."

"The worst part is the Germans are treating this as a warm-up for the real war, the one that'll spread over Europe like a wildfire."

"You're such a pessimist, brother." Joe threw up his hands in exasperation. "You think there's a fiery disaster around every corner."

Later that morning, in a nondescript brick warehouse building not far from the university's West Bronx campus, Joe Hardy stood in front of the desk of a harried clerk. On the desk were piles of paper, some of them bundled together with string. There was a carousel of rubber stamps and stamp pads in various colors. On a sheet of wax paper was a half-eaten sandwich, accompanied by a half-drunk cardboard cup of coffee.

"What is it now?"

"It's not there." Joe stood with a cardboard box at his feet. Inside were the archived records of university engineering students. The warehouse on this floor was filled with tall metal shelves reaching upwards into dim, shadowy heights. The shelves were stacked with cardboard boxes looking just like Joe's except for the text on the labels.

"I'm not responsible for the contents of the boxes, fella. The clients fill the boxes and send them to us."

"Could there be a mistake?"

Joe was prepared for an unpleasant response but the clerk said, "I know. Somebody came in looking for the same thing as you a coupla weeks ago. Gimme a moment, will ya?" He slid open a drawer and pulled out a large book. "Yeah, here it is. He wanted the same box. He probably left with the file you were looking for."

"Who signed his authorization?"

The clerk shook his head. "He didn't need one. He was an employee of the university. His name was, let me see, Martin Lombard."

"Thank you."

The brothers had wondered what they could do that the police had overlooked. The only avenue that looked promising was to find out more about Otto Heinze. Frank had gone to the New York Public Library that morning in the hope that he could find some newspaper or magazine article mentioning Heinze and Joe had obtained an authorization from Prof. Coville to look up Heinze's old student records.

With their expenses covered by the university, the brothers felt free to use the Checkered Cab Co. to get around town. Joe stepped out of a taxi and slammed the canary yellow door behind him. The brothers met on the broad stone steps of the library by one of the couchant lions. Behind the library in the recently completed park they could have bought something to eat at a hotdog stand. Instead they chose to walk east on 42nd Street looking for a lunchroom or a café.

The brothers were caught in the fast-flowing torrent of urban humanity, like a silt-laden river flooding its plain. In these days the crowd dressed in dull browns and grays. Few chose to dress ostentatiously or gaudily, remembering the harshest days of the Great Depression just behind them. Joe felt a sense of pride and delight at pausing with a stream of pedestrians six abreast at an intersection. It was good to be part of the great American metropolis, even if only for a short time. They passed under the bridges that carried Park Avenue traffic to the second level of Grand Central Station. Down the street, soaring into the sky was the Chrysler Building, its famous silvery spire a celebration of the motorcar in the modern decorative style of architecture.

"I didn't get anywhere," admitted Frank, as they sat at a booth awaiting their orders, "except to confirm what we've been told about Heinze. I found a couple of references to him in technical journals. Nothing that makes you jump out of your seat. And I suppose he hasn't done anything spectacular enough to get into a newspaper story."

"Except disappear. I guess any of his important work would be secret and wouldn't be published anyway." Joe sipped on the straw of his tall glass of soda.

Joe told his brother about the missing file. "Obviously, there's something Lombard doesn't want people to know. We weren't on the case two weeks ago, so it's not necessarily us."

"All the same, I don't trust Lombard to come clean now, if we confront him with it. If he gives us the file he's had time to go through it and remove anything he wanted to conceal."

"I thought of digging through copies of the student newspaper printed during the time Heinze was here. It's a long shot."

"But it's an independent source of information Lombard hasn't messed around with."

The afternoon found the brothers back at the university campus. In the bright sunlight they could appreciate the unifying effect of the yellow brick used for all its newer buildings. From the crest of land on which the campus was built they had a view west to the Harlem River.

The brothers left the spring day behind and settled into the dark, cramped offices of the _Voice_, the student newspaper. As it published once a week, the brothers had a large number of old issues to flip through. Fortunately, they consisted of only twelve pages each.

"I think I've found something," Joe finally announced.

There was a short article. It read: "Scholarship student questioned on behavior. This newspaper has learned that trustees of the Thomas K. Longmann Foundation, grantors of over thirty thousand dollars in various scholarships to deserving students, have become concerned about the behavior of one of their recipients, Mr. Otto Heinze of this university's College of Engineering. They are considering ending support for Mr. Heinze on the grounds that his off-campus behavior is not in keeping with the high moral standards of the Foundation's founder, Mr. Longmann. Mr. Longmann is the noted nineteenth-century industrialist forever associated with his promotion of the steam-powered meat grinder, essential for production of quality luncheon meat products. Details of Mr. Heinze's alleged inappropriate behavior were not available. It is expected that a meeting of the scholarship committee will be held to hear arguments and make a decision. The Foundation, when contacted, refused to comment publicly. The College of Engineering has also declined to make any comment."

"That sort of thing would be in his student record," said Frank, "a dispute over his scholarship. The college must have made a presentation at the meeting." Although they checked the succeeding issues of the _Voice_ carefully, they found no more mention of the matter.


	7. Chapter 7

"Has anyone seen Shelbourne this afternoon?" Lombard asked as he stepped into Prof. Coville's office. He was greeted with blank looks from Prof. Coville and the Hardy boys. "I was expecting to see him and he doesn't appear to be on campus." As no one had anything to offer, Lombard settled into a wooden swivel chair.

Prof. Coville addressed them. "We have news from the police. Lt. Korman tells me that the dive team has been in the water all day and they have found nothing near the pier. If there was a body it was carried out by the tide. In the absence of any more leads, Lt. Korman is considering the case a suicide."

"But you don't really think that," objected Joe.

"We brought you two onto the case to lead us to Dr. Heinze," said Lombard. "It seems to me that you have followed the trail admirably and it leads to the pier at Pelham Bay Park. Your involvement in the case, then, should be at an end."

"Prof. Coville, you're familiar with Prof. Lombard's office?" asked Frank. "Could you tell us what the picture was that hung at the spot on the wall where there's a darker area of paint?"

Prof. Coville looked puzzled. He rose out of his chair as if to walk to the other office, but Lombard stopped him. "Allow me," he said. Still unperturbed, Lombard left the office and came back carrying a framed photograph. It was a photograph of a table in a restaurant or nightclub. Seated at the table were a young Negro woman in a sleeveless dress with decorative ruffles at the shoulders, a blond woman in a simple, low-cut dress, Martin Lombard and Otto Heinze. They were joined by other revellers in the background.

"Why did you remove Mr. Heinze's student record from the archives?" questioned Frank. "Does it have anything to do with the move to take away his scholarship?"

"How did you find out about that?" Lombard snapped.

"It was in the student newspaper. I'm beginning to put the pieces together now. The problem with the scholarship board wasn't that Mr. Heinze went to nightclubs. Or drank. Or had a girlfriend. It was this particular girlfriend."

"Her name is Olivia Simmons. She's the young colored woman in the photograph. She's a singer in the clubs. Otto was very enthusiastic about music in those days. He would go to all the clubs looking for the latest bands and singers."

"They look like a lovely couple to me," said Joe.

"There are those in this country who find it objectionable, regrettably."

"Then he's alive and staying with her, and her son."

"The boy is his son as well. Yes, I suppose he's with her. I last saw Otto on Tuesday. He said that he was going to find her. He must have done so, that night. The fake suicide was intended to throw the spies, and any others, off his trail and give him some time."

"The clues were a little too simple and too convenient."

"Well," Lombard made a wry grin, "we've had much less experience fabricating mysteries than you have had solving them. We were hoping that the two of you and the police would quickly follow the trail to the pier, come to the conclusion that it was a suicide and close the case. I did what I could to prevent you from making the connection to Miss Simmons."

"Was the telegram genuine?"

"Yes, his wife agreed to that. Their marriage has been essentially over for some time."

"You removed the file two weeks ago," wondered Joe.

"Otto dropped hints in his letters that he was intending to do this. He had to put it in a way that seemed innocuous to a stranger but had a clear meaning to me."

Prof. Coville had been silent through this. He said at last, "I'm embarrassed that you boys have been deceived. I'm hearing these facts for the first time. You have my apologies."

"I accept your apologies but I don't enjoy being played for a fool," said Frank.

"Now that you boys know the truth, would you consider following the case to the finish?" asked Lombard.

"You were trying to send us off packing a while ago," retorted Joe.

Lombard said coolly, "We all want to see that the situation is finally resolved safely."

"We do want to follow this through, but for Mr. Heinze's sake. You don't know where they are yourself?"

Lombard shook his head. "She used to sing at a club called 'Paradise' but it closed years ago. I certainly haven't kept track of her."

They passed over a bridge back into Manhattan. Constellations of lights marked the city skyline against the deepening backdrop of twilight. Following them out of the Bronx, the 9th Avenue elevated train rumbled and clattered overhead.

"That got me a little steamed," Joe said. "I felt like telling Lombard that Heinze was his friend and if he wanted to be found he would have told Lombard himself."


	8. Chapter 8

Returning from their latest interview with Coville and Lombard, the brothers had dinner in their hotel's dining room.

"Hello boys, what hot scoop do you have for me?" A slender young woman with wavy blond hair approached their table. She was wearing a checked suit with a narrow, mid-calf-length skirt.

"Pardon me, do we know you?" Frank asked skeptically.

"Oh, everyone knows me. I'm Molly Mirkin, star girl reporter of the _New York Daily Telegram_. Our building is a few blocks from here.

"The _Daily Telegram_ is a vulgar, sensationalist tabloid," said Frank, continuing in his sour tone.

"Tell me something I don't already know. I mean that." She sat down next to Joe. They both stared at her. She was actually very pretty, with blue eyes and a wide mouth. "All right, if you're going to sit there like bumps on a log, let me start. I got interested in this German scientist visiting America. Then it turns out he disappears. I heard the famous Hardy Boys were on the case. Now, that piqued my interest. My story is in this afternoon's edition, by the way. Lt. Korman tells me you don't think it was suicide. It would be a pretty dull story if it was suicide."

"You'll get no information from us," said Frank. "Are you really going to be dogging our footsteps?"

"Dogging? I don't need to follow anyone, not even the Hardy Boys. I've got my own sources."

"Say, aren't you supposed to be doing a series on Tibet? Aren't you flying there with some air ace?"

"Now, how would you know that?"

"I—um…"

"You've read my stories. Admit it! So I've got a fan! Don't worry about that ace aviator. He's a dud. Let me tell you, there's not a thimbleful of chemistry between us. He's old and married anyway, not like you two young fellas."

Joe smiled. Frank still looked a little chagrined. "I'll see you boys again, real soon." Molly whirled on her high heels and went out the door.

"Don't forget to bring extra film this time," was Frank's parting shot.

"She's not half bad-looking, you know," said Joe.

"Kind of thin and bony."

"Not every blond has to look like Jean Harlow," Joe replied.

"What would you know about Jean Harlow? I thought you didn't pay any attention to the movies."

"Huh? I take Iola to the movies all the time."

"Yeah, that's just what I mean."

"Very funny, brother. You ought to have your own radio comedy spot. To get back on the subject, what do you know about Molly's series on the aviator?"

Frank laughed. "Am I supposed to be an expert on Molly Mirkin's writing now?"

"You know more than I do."

"Okay. The aviator's name is Robert Soderstrom. You've probably heard of him."

"Famous fighter pilot from the World War."

"Right. And after the war he was a pioneering aviator in Asia. He flew over the Himalayas. He went solo across Central Asia. At the time there was a ton of press coverage for his exploits."

"Why is Molly interested in him now?"

"He's trying to organize an expedition to the Himalayas. He thinks that in some remote valley there's some lost civilization. You know, the Shangri-La sort of thing, a highly advanced, peaceful civilization where people have the secret of a healthy long life."

Joe laughed. "That sounds pretty far-fetched. Where does the money come from for this?"

"He has some ownership stake in an oilfield in Oklahoma. He's a rich man. He funds what he calls the Institute for Central Asian Archaeology. They're the organization behind this research. Oh, I'm sure he's got plenty of rich pals who are donors as well."

"Archaeology? I thought you said that he expected to find this Shangri-La still existing?"

"Yes, well, Soderstrom thinks that they're a remnant of a great civilization, sort of the original civilization…"

"Oh, don't tell me. He wants to trace their history back to Atlantis."

"Yeah, I think that's the idea," admitted Frank. "The Atlanteans lived in the far north and their land was submerged by rising sea levels with the end of the Ice Age. They declined but their culture was carried on by the historical civilizations of Asia."

"It's a theory for those who want to believe that white people created the master civilization. They can't accept that Egyptians or Babylonians had much to do with it."

"There's something that's nagging me," said Frank. "How did Molly get on Mr. Heinze's story in the first place? Remember, she said she knew about him before his disappearance. Considering what _The Daily Telegram _is like, it's not likely she was going to report on rocket engineering."

"You're thinking that her interest in Heinze has something to do with Soderstrom, don't you? But what's the connection?"

Frank strained to recall what he had read. "There's more to this Soderstrom than weird archaeology. He acts as a civilian advisor to the Air Force. According to Molly's story he has the ear of powerful people in the government. He's influential in defense policy."

"That sounds more like it." Joe seemed a bit skeptical. Frank shrugged and they left it at that.

The brothers went to the hotel's front desk to check for any messages left for them. "Speaking of actors, haven't I seen that guy before?" Frank was looking at a dapper gentleman coming towards them. He walked with an unsteady gait. His clothes were expensively tailored. On a leash ahead of him was a sprightly brown terrier.

"Ah, the Hardy Boys, just the young men I've been looking for," the gentleman said as he reached them. He had gleaming black hair and a slender moustache.

"Is there a big neon sign over this hotel saying, 'Hardy Boys staying here'?" asked Frank of no one in particular.

"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking it's undignified for a gentleman to be drunk walking his dog. Let me tell you, it would be a good deal more undignified for a dog to be drunk walking a man. Say, that doesn't make much sense, does it?" The Hardys shook their heads.

Lowering his voice, the man said, "How about we lose that gun punk over there and go meet someone?" He tipped his head towards a young man sitting in an armchair, hidden behind a newspaper. In a louder voice he said, "Why don't you join me for a drink, in my room? It's only on the second floor."

The boys followed the man up the stairs, along the second floor corridor, and down another set of stairs at the end of the corridor, back to the ground floor. There was an exit leading to the alley.

"How did you know that guy was tailing us?" Frank asked.

"Either that or he's an awfully slow reader. He's hardly turned the pages of that newspaper in the last half hour."

"Are you a private investigator?" asked Joe suspiciously. "You didn't tell us your name."

"You can call me Mr. Charles. My dog does." He walked out to the sidewalk and, looking around to check for their tail, hailed a taxi. "I was a private detective once, before I married my delightful wife Nora and became a member of the spoiled rich. I know it's a difficult racket. It's difficult to make a buck at it while remaining on the right side of the law."

"Our father manages to do it," retorted Frank.

"Ah, Fenton Hardy is an exceptional man. I've told him so more than once."

"We keep running into people who know us."

"You are well known, as well known as any resident of Bayport can expect to be. What would the _Bayport Gazette_ have to report if it wasn't covering your exploits?"

"You haven't told us who we're visiting," objected Joe.

"We're going to a club and hopefully there we'll see Olivia Simmons, the singer you're looking for. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll have to drop my dog off at my hotel. He's underage, you know."


	9. Chapter 9

In the dark entranceway of "Earl's" on 133rd St. a man stood erect and unmoving as an Egyptian statue. The whites of his eyes, set deep in his face, were bright as empty shells on a beach. He glowered down at the Hardy boys.

"It's all right, they're with me, Montgomery," Mr. Charles said nonchalantly. He led his companions past the silent doorman.

"We _are_ minors, you know," said Frank in a whisper.

"Yes, how inconvenient. But these clubs pay the boys in blue a good weekly allowance to turn a blind eye to such minor infractions." Then, reacting to the expression on Frank's face, he continued, "I'm sure such things don't go on in Bayport but this is the big city. And why shouldn't the local cops get a tip? Waitresses who aren't even pretty get extravagant tips from hopeful drunks all the time. It's a good thing for society to have little matters kept out of the justice system, don't you think, boys? It would only clog up the courts."

There were small lamps with shades on the tables. Colored theatrical lights illuminated a piano, a drum kit, microphones, and a bass on the stage. As dark as the interior was, Frank could tell that the club had seen more prosperous days. He imagined the round tables once had white tablecloths but were now bare. Everything had a worn and tired look. The hardwood floor was dull and stained. Frank could have sworn there were dents in the plaster walls, maybe from glasses, or bottles, or patrons' skulls being thrown against them.

"I'll have a scotch and soda," Mr. Charles ordered. He lit a cigarette. He used a slender, gold-plated lighter that made a heavy, metallic sound when it snapped shut that was strangely satisfying.

"Just healthy water for us," said Joe with a chuckle.

"This was never a glamorous sort of club but it used to attract a bigger, and richer clientele," explained Mr. Charles. "Back in the 'Twenties people came to Harlem looking for the 'Jazz Age' they had all read about in magazines. With the Depression the business dried up. This place hangs on because people come here for the music. Manhattan sophisticates like me, well, like my friends and associates, flock to places with brighter lights, glitzy floor shows, a chance to see and be seen."

"That's all very interesting, Mr. Charles," said Frank, "but you haven't explained a very important point. How did you know we were looking for Olivia Simmons?"

Mr. Charles took a deep breath. "Let's say that an organization I'm associated with has very deep file cabinets and no great willingness to toss out old files. They have what might be called a righteous zeal about their appointed mission. Mr. Heinze came to their attention when the controversy broke out over his scholarship. They were interested in the case but it was hushed up by the scholarship foundation and the university. Then recently Mr. Heinze came back into the news with his visit to the States. Given his sensitive position and the troubled state of the world, you can understand that they take a keen interest in Mr. Heinze."

"Then I'm right in thinking that you're helping the F.B.I.?" queried Frank.

"Drink your water, son."

Joe noticed that at the other tables some people were still dining. Fewer than half the tables were occupied. It was a predominantly white crowd. The Hardy boys had a table next to one side of the horseshoe-shaped stage. No one paid much attention to Joe and his brother. It was not uncommon for college boys to visit obscure Harlem clubs in search of worthwhile music. Not everyone was satisfied with the steady diet of Bing Crosby hits on the radio.

Circles of white light fell on the stage. Four male musicians stepped out from the stage wings and found their places with their instruments. A woman strode onto the stage. Her satin dress was such an intense blue that Joe could imagine that it radiated blue even in the dark. It exposed her smooth, light brown shoulders. Her wavy hair was built up high. She pivoted to look around at her audience, smiling brightly. She called out, "Good evening" to all the corners of the room before launching into song. Clearly, Joe thought, she was experienced on stage and comfortable with her audience. Joe didn't have the right vocabulary to describe the vocalist musically but he liked what he heard. He was used to sweet-voiced young songbirds who sang pop songs in a straightforward manner. Olivia Simmons may have been like that at one time but now she had a strong, mature voice, and she made the songs her own expression. Joe had heard some of the tunes before. He expected they were standards. The audience acted as though they were familiar with her. They applauded and gave her words of encouragement between numbers. Some called out her name. Her large eyes surveyed the crowd as she said, "Thank you" and acknowledged the applause. She was smiling broadly now. Clouds of tobacco smoke drifted from the tables into the white cones of light on stage.

On all the songs the band members took solo turns. Joe was struck by the little trumpet player. When he snapped his fingers to the time his whole arm joined in. It looked as if he might drop his horn and start dancing. His face was glistening with perspiration. When he finished his solos his eyes drifted over to Olivia. The bass player was a big man with a smiling, genial face. The piano player bent over his keyboard. He had a detached air, apparently paying no attention to his band mates or the audience, as if he were playing a recital in a concert hall somewhere. He was the only white member of the band.

As the set was winding down a man in a navy blue overcoat entered. The waiter showed him to a table in a dark corner of the room. It was Heinze. "Is he a romantic fool or what?" sputtered Mr. Charles. "He's supposed to be dead!" Olivia did not show any emotion but she whispered to her band and, after a few seconds, they launched into "Stardust" by Hoagy Carmichael.

She sang:

Now the little stars, the little stars pine  
Always reminding me that we're apart  
You wander down the lane and far away  
Leaving me a love that cannot die  
Love is now the stardust of yesterday  
The music of the years gone by.

Joe wondered what that was about. Was it a dig at Heinze?

Mr. Charles ate the maraschino cherry of his Manhattan, his third drink, and went over to see Heinze. The German engineer accompanied him back to the Hardys' table. He had the same grin as the boys remembered, but they imagined that it was a little embarrassed and awkward now.

"I hope you have a good plan from this point on," said Frank solemnly.

"Any good engineer will tell you that sometimes, after all the calculations are done, you have to make choices by instinct."

"You know you haven't bought yourself much time. They're going to be closing in on you very shortly."

"Yes, I know. I must speak with the American authorities. I am not asking for very much. If I could hand over my information and walk away and disappear into your vast land, I would. But I feel I must stay in control of my ideas. I cannot abandon them. I could not pass a day without thinking of them."

"The documents that you have," said Mr. Charles, "they are not safe in your possession. They must be passed on to someone else in case something happens to you. At least they would get into the right hands."

"Yes, I have thought of that," replied Heinze noncommittally.

Heinze changed the subject. "You know, I trust these boys because they were introduced to me by my old friend Dr. Coville. But I don't know you. If you are a spy you have a very convincing cover. I think, no, you must be a representative of other interests. Do you care to tell us?" Heinze's dark eyes looked over Charles shrewdly.

"Ah, you can't quite place me. I drink too much for the good of my health and far too much to be an F.B.I. agent. Consider me a friend."

"I have exposed myself here, foolishly, as you think. Thus I cannot have any objection if you spot me. It is too late to avoid you and I don't think you would be easy to dispose of." Heinze shrugged and his grin returned.


	10. Chapter 10

The band was finishing its set now. Olivia introduced the musicians. "On trumpet and cornet, Mr. Davis 'Toots' Mayall!" Toots flashed a wide grin. He took a bow so deep and prolonged that Joe thought for an instant of yoga postures. He received enthusiastic applause. "Providing the rock steady rhythm, Mr. Chester Smith on bass!" He gave a little nod to the audience. "Giving the skins a real workout tonight, our drummer Floyd Emerson!" Emerson, who had been a source of volcanic energy all through the set, finally dropped his arms behind his back, still holding the drumsticks. "Our pianist, Mr. Ettore Sciorra." He looked up, slightly startled, as if he suddenly realized there was an audience in the room. "I try to convince him that 'Ettore' is Italian for 'star' but he's a shy man and he won't take his place in the spotlight. Give him some encouragement, folks." The crowd clapped and Ettore nodded happily.

The Hardys sat close enough to the stage to hear the musicians talking as they put away their instruments and prepared to walk off.

"We couldn't even play that tune last week because Toots here didn't have his cornet," said Floyd.

"Last week was last week. Don't you think a man can turn over a new leaf any week if he wants to?"

"I'll believe Toots has turned over a new leaf when I see it," said Chester. "At least you got that horn out of hock. A man's not much without a horn." The band mates guffawed.

"J. D. said there was a bottle of cognac waiting backstage," said Floyd. "Must be mighty good news to share that with the hired help."

"Maybe later, boys," said Toots.

"How about you, Olivia?"

Olivia wasn't paying attention. She alighted from the platform.

"Olivia's man is back in town. She doesn't have time for her buddies in the band anymore," Floyd concluded.

"He's been away eight years. That's a whole lot of love that needs catching up on," Chester joked.

"Love has to be expressed," Toots pronounced. "That's why God gave us music."

Olivia strode over to the Hardys' table. A radiant smile was on her face. She was a lovely young woman, Joe thought. She bent over the seated Heinze and they kissed. They seemed like a married couple. "I'll be back in a minute," she said, patting the top of Heinze's hand. She and the other band members walked into the wings of the stage, except Toots who headed for the front entrance.

The imposing doorman appeared silently beside their table. "Montgomery Harris!" said Mr. Charles with enthusiasm. "Come join me and my young friends." Harris was impassive at first, then slowly cracked a wide grin. Joe noticed that under the doorman's jacket a baby blue silk vest was shimmering. In his pocket was a matching display handkerchief. "Mr. Harris has been my acquaintance of many years' standing," Charles said by way of introduction. "How many years has it been since I sent you upriver for… extortion, wasn't it?"

"Seven, Mr. Charles. And I've been out for the last two."

"Did you make the most of your time there?"

"Oh, yes. I wouldn't be the man I am today if you hadn't got me arrested."

"You see! And they say that the nation's penal institutions are incapable of reforming the criminal element!"

After they had enjoyed a drink together Harris had to return to his duties at the entrance.

"He didn't have a gun," observed Joe.

"Oh, I think he does," replied Charles. "The last time I met up with him he had a small pistol in a pocket sewn into the back of his jacket. He also had a big throwing knife strapped to his left leg. I would guess the reason he's not packing a big heater is that he's got one near at hand."

Some ten minutes later Frank spotted a familiar figure. "Oh no, here comes trouble," he groaned. In a wide-brimmed black hat and an oyster-gray trench coat was Molly Mirkin.

"I thought she was only going to make a cameo appearance," quipped Joe.

"Hello boys. I said I would see you again soon. And who do we have here?"

"Did you follow us?" accused Frank.

"The idea that I would stoop to such crude tactics! Certainly not. As I said, I have my own sources."

"At least, did you make sure no one followed you?"

"Damn it, I didn't think--"

Frank leapt out of his chair and headed for the club's entrance. He only got as far as the passageway when he turned and came back. He pulled Heinze up with a hand under the German's arm and led him away from the table.

Joe soon saw the cause of his brother's alarm. Entering the room were two men. There was nothing particularly striking or suspicious about them but Joe recognized one of them, a man in a black trench coat, from the night of Heinze's scheduled lecture.


	11. Chapter 11

"Make a diversion," was all Frank had time to say as he turned his back to the men who had just entered.

The two men were being seated at a table when Molly shrieked, "How many times have I told you not to follow me around?" to Joe's face. "Can't you take 'No' for an answer? I don't want to see your face anymore!"

Joe, getting into the spirit of things, said in a hurt voice, "I just need to talk to you, for only a few minutes! I can explain everything."

"Leave me alone!" Molly exclaimed in scornful wrath. She picked up a glass of water and splashed it in Joe's face.

Joe took this as a cue to leave. "A little romantic melodrama is all right for variety but I think I'll stick with mystery!" Joe whispered to Charles as he walked away from the table. The two men at the other table seemed amused to witness this slice of modern American life. They did not notice the two furtive figures moving in the dim corridor.

The corridor was illuminated only by lights over framed photographs of bands and musicians, and by the light spilling through the swinging double doors of the kitchen. "Where there's a kitchen there's got to be a door for garbage and deliveries," Frank explained as he led Heinze that way. Just to the right of the kitchen doors was a storage area and the exit.

The brothers re-united outside in the alley.

"Will Olivia be all right?" Heinze asked.

"Mr. Charles is still with her," Joe answered. "Besides, they don't want her. They're only interested in her if she can lead them to you."

"Yes, you're quite right." Heinze looked troubled. "It is terrible that she is dragged into this. It was an overwhelming impulse on my part to stay with her and not be parted again."

"Why did you leave in the first place, I mean, eight years ago?" asked Frank. "If you don't mind my asking such a personal question."

"That was also an impulse of mine, a cowardly one." Heinze had that embarrassed grin the brothers had seen before. "My time at school was over; my visa was expiring. But I could have stayed if I had married her. I was a coward. I was panicked by the thought of fatherhood. I felt an impulse to run. That is all I can say as an explanation. I adored Olivia. I might have fooled myself at the time with the thought that I could turn around whenever I wanted and go back, but you understand how it is, once I returned to Germany I was back in familiar surroundings and New York seemed very far away. I began my professional career at the University of Heidelberg. I was excited by my work. I was drawn into a new circle of friends. You mustn't think that I forgot about Olivia in those days. That would be excessively cruel. I did think of her, but with each passing year it seemed more fantastic that I would give up everything and pick up the thread of my former life." As he talked, Heinze looked over at the brothers from time to time, as if expecting to be judged, but they listened sympathetically.

"I don't think you know this, but I have an apartment six blocks from here," Heinze informed the boys.

"We'll walk you there," said Frank. "Don't let me interrupt your story."

"Yes, 'my story'," Heinze repeated in a self-mocking tone. "To continue, I did write to Olivia in the first few years. I sent her money. When I met my wife I no longer wished to continue. I felt I was playing the role of some foolish figure in a cheap melodrama. That was the case whether I was found out or not."

They walked along the broad sidewalks. The street was lined with cheap shops, cafés, and gin joints. Frank noticed that men were watching them through the windows of pool parlors. There were many loiterers and strollers out on the streets. There were too many men without a job to wake up to the next morning. They turned a corner and passed the office of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Frank had heard that at this corner, on those days that occasioned it, a banner used to be hung that read, "A Negro was lynched today." The landlord had forced the organization to stop doing this.

"I married Lotte five years ago. It was easy to enter the married state. I was a successful young academic. Naturally people thought I was in need of a wife. Lotte's father was involved in a weapons production company. We were considered a very good match. Perhaps it was a terrible mistake. People would say that I still had feelings for Olivia and could not commit wholeheartedly to any other woman. As an engineer, you know, I am used to the idea of analyzing events in extraordinary detail after the fact. Train derailments and bridge collapses, for example." He grinned bleakly. "Human life is both more complex and more subtle. I did not feel haunted by memories of Olivia at the time. I thought my passion for Lotte was genuine.

"To keep the story short, my wife and I drifted apart. She is the sort of woman who enjoys hosting parties for the right people in society. As an academic I had some prestige but my salary did not go far. Lotte expected from the beginning that I would join her father's company. It seemed a perfectly natural step to her. As my project advanced it became shrouded in greater secrecy. I spent more and more time away from Lotte and could never discuss my work with her. Would it all have been different if I hadn't known that, an ocean away, my son was being raised without me? How can I know the answer to that?"

They were walking on a street with brick apartment buildings. On every building, a black steel fire escape hung from the façade. Away from the lights of the commercial blocks, Joe felt the darkness of the night oppressing him. From open windows he could smell cooking but he didn't know what the dishes were. He thought of how these tenements were crowded with people, many of them from the South, who had flooded into New York following the World War. He was startled to look up and see a man standing on a fire escape in his white undershirt, staring at him, undeterred by the cool air. He had thick, massive arms. Joe wondered whether his look was hostile or merely curious. Then he heard a baritone voice singing, "Summertime, and the livin' is easy" and he realized it was the man on the fire-escape. It was a smooth, soothing voice, like the surface of a wide, slow-moving river caught in the moonlight.

After a short pause, Heinze carried on. "My wife and her friends thought that the Nazis were good for the morale of the country. They would build up the economy and give people pride again. But they expected that Hitler could be replaced after a short time by someone more pleasing to their tastes. They thoroughly underestimated the ruthlessness of Hitler and his circle." They passed along the high, red brick walls of the Metropolitan Baptist Church. Frank wondered if the thick walls provided the congregation with a sense of security against a hostile and violent outside world.

"With the Nazi government in power I came to realize that I could not continue with life as it was. We are being led on a road to catastrophe, and I am adding fuel to the engine. I could not willingly sabotage my own project. If I tried I would surely be found out. I am afraid I am not a hero. The thought grew in my mind that I might switch sides. I could, on the one hand, impede the progress of my homeland in its drive to obtain terrifying weapons and, on the other, help America create a sort of balance of terror." A momentary expression of helplessness came over Heinze. The Hardy brothers were startled to hear him say, "Sometimes I think we are all mad! What are we doing? There is no defense against these weapons. We can only create two sides that are equally armed."

"Maybe you could tell us more about the weapon you're working on?" asked Frank.

"I can tell you the idea easily enough. We are interested in developing a multi-stage missile, capable of delivering a warhead, not across a battlefield or across a border, but of crossing the ocean. What sort of warhead it could be armed with is limited only by the malevolence of men's imaginations."

"That would change the nature of any future war, and of global politics," said Frank.

"Maybe this guy _should_ have a metal hand," muttered Joe to himself.

"In my miserable state I clung to Olivia as a hope for a new life. I became obsessed with the idea of seeing her again. Of course, I could not state this openly, even in letters to Prof. Coville. The German security apparatus would have read my letters, I am sure, and they would have blocked my attempts to travel abroad."

"It sounds like you were taking it for granted that Olivia would accept you back," said Joe.

"No, no, not at all. It was a faint hope, I realized. I fully expected she had found another man. Eight years is a long time. She was candid with me. She said she had lived with other men during those years, but none she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. I can only say that I am a very fortunate man, to have another opportunity in life. Some times a person is humbled in the presence of love and forgiveness."

They had reached Heinze's residence. It was in a large brownstone house converted into apartments. The doorway at the top of the entrance steps had carved Corinthian pilasters in dark sandstone. The designer had intended the building for a higher class of resident than was now attracted to the street.

Heinze left them at the front steps. "Love can survive in the most unlikely of circumstances, like lichens in the Arctic wastes. Good night, young friends. Come around tomorrow morning. It's apartment four."


	12. Chapter 12

When the Hardys returned to Earl's, the audience was still waiting for Olivia to begin her second set. Mr. Charles was seated at the table by himself. The man in the black trench coat and his companion were no longer at their table.

"Where's Molly?" asked Joe.

"She said she had to attend to another story."

"What happened to the men at the other table? And who are they?" asked Frank.

"I talked to the waiter. He said they had slight German accents. I suspect they might be agents of the _Abwehr_. Our German spies, in other words. I'm pretty sure they're waiting outside to follow Olivia. That won't help them because I'm making sure Miss Simmons is going home right after her performance and getting her beauty sleep. You boys might think about retiring for the night as well. It's well past your regular bedtime."

"I'll go when I'm ready to go," muttered Joe.

"Oh, I was only kidding. Don't be so sensitive."

"You don't think the German spies will cause trouble, do you?" asked Frank.

"Good spies spend years establishing their cover. They're supposed to blend in inconspicuously with the rest of the crowd. They're not going to blow it by causing a public disturbance or pulling out guns. I wouldn't worry about them."

"You know, you really should watch how much you drink."

Charles looked down at the bright green of his grasshopper. "Don't worry boys, I'm working on dessert right now."

After some time spent watching Charles drink, Frank observed, "The band seems to be taking a long time to get back on stage."

There were two loud cracks. A woman screamed. The Hardys looked around them but the sounds had not come from the room. Joe rushed into the entrance passageway. Joe was quick enough to see a man turn and flee through the club's entrance. Two men came down a staircase brandishing guns.

On the floor was Harris. The left side of his jacket had a dark, growing stain. His eyes were wide open, as if he were more shocked than hurt. "I'm all right," he hissed. He rapped the knuckles of his right hand against his chest, producing a muffled clacking. Joe assumed it was a bullet-proof vest. "He caught me above my vest. Nothing important hit." He groaned. "Damn. I was hoping I wouldn't get shot again."

One of the men who had come down the stairs, a tall, athletically-built man, bounded through the door in pursuit of the assailant. There was the muffled sound of another gunshot, outside on the street. He returned after a few seconds, shaking his head.

The other man who had come down the stairs barked, "Call an ambulance, somebody! Are you going to let this man bleed to death on my floor?" His order was promptly obeyed. He was a stout, older man with flecks of gray in his hair. On his lapel he wore a pink carnation. "Who do these people think they are? Coming to Harlem and shooting my place up! That kind of thing belongs in grade B gangster movies!"

Charles and Frank stood over Harris. Charles unbuttoned his jacket and his vest. It appeared the bullet had struck him under the collarbone.

"What happened, Montgomery?" Charles asked gently.

"These two gun punks came in. I told them they had to leave their guns with me. I said they weren't going to disturb any of the other patrons. They said they didn't carry any guns." Harris paused and breathed hard. "I went to pat one of them down. He said, 'Get your paws off me you goddamned monkey.'

"Then Toots comes in and one guy grabs him by the collar and starts shouting at him to leave the white woman alone. I got mad and told him to let go of Toots and get the hell out or I would toss them out." Harris paused again.

"Well, he pulled out a gun. I jumped behind the desk. There's a Colt .45 in the drawer. He fired two shots. One hit the desk. I think Walter and J.D. came down the stairs when they heard the shots. That scared them off." Harris grimaced with the effort of talking through his pain.

"Easy now," said Charles. "We appreciate any help you can give us."

Most of the patrons were now retrieving their coats from the still-frightened coat check girl. They weren't going to take a chance on more violence that night.

"Where's that ambulance?" Charles demanded.

"They always take their time getting here," one of the waitresses muttered.

Eventually an ambulance arrived. "Let's get Montgomery to the hospital," said Charles. "We can talk to him in the morning if he's feeling up to it."

Charles turned to the tall black man now standing calmly by his boss. "Walter, did you get a good look at them?"

"Wait a minute," said Joe, "whose investigation is this, anyway, yours or ours?"

Frank gave a deep sigh. "Joe, we shouldn't be so arrogant that we turn down help when it's offered."

Joe paused. Then he said, "Yeah, you're right."

They turned to Walter. He shrugged impassively. "There wasn't anything special about them. Just punks with new coats and hats on them. They took a shot at me before they ran around the corner. They took off in a big black sedan, maybe a Buick."

Frank asked, "Did you see the other men in the car?"

"There was an older guy in the back seat. He was mostly bald, with white hair."

"After this I need a drink," Charles declared. "You two look like you could use a drink yourselves," said Charles looking at them attentively.

"I guess we're not used to this sort of violence living in Bayport," Frank said. "We don't often see gunfire and blood on the floor."

"It's terrible how casual you get about it after a while. These are violent times we live in, boys."

When the Hardys returned to their hotel the lobby was deserted except for one man sitting on a davenport. He was the young man who had apparently been tailing them earlier in the evening.

Joe walked up to him. "Oh, come on! Don't you know when to call it quits? It's not as if you're any good at this game. We've been gone all evening and you're still sitting here doing crossword puzzles!"

The young man scowled. "I've had as much as I'm going to take from you. Maybe I didn't see where you've been, but maybe you'll tell my friend here." He unbuttoned the top button of his overcoat. Joe knew he intended to reach for his gun.

Frank launched himself at the gunman's legs. The man crumpled with a loud grunt. Joe fell on his chest and grabbed his arms. Frank took hold of his right arm and pulled it back so he couldn't reach for his gun. Joe wrestled with the left arm and pinned it down. The gunman's pale face flushed with helpless fury. Joe quickly reached into his jacket and plucked out a Luger pistol. "You can get this back when you learn how to behave properly in a nice hotel like this."

Entering the lobby was an older couple, dressed for a formal evening out.

Frank and Joe sprang to their feet. Joe casually tucked the gun into his belt. The gunman got up and walked away without saying a word.

"Did you enjoy your evening out?" Frank inquired, making polite conversation. He had overheard them earlier in the day. "A musical?"

"Yes indeed," replied the elderly lady, glittering from her jeweled tiara and the many-stranded pearl necklace on her neck. "We were lucky to get tickets for _'I'd Rather be Right'_. Mr. George M. Cohan was fabulous!" Frank reflected sadly that only in a Broadway musical would President Roosevelt be able to dance.

The elderly man seemed about to say something. He stared at Joe's jacket where it covered the gun in his belt. Then he changed his mind and backed away, looking a little perturbed. The Hardys smiled pleasantly. "Good-night," they said.


	13. Chapter 13

"Hi, Dad." It was Joe speaking on the phone. "Sorry we didn't manage to call you yesterday. We were awfully busy."

"That's okay son," said Mr. Fenton Hardy. "I know you two can take care of yourselves. Your mother and Aunt Gertrude are concerned about you, though. They'll be happy to see you back safe in Bayport." It was good to hear his father's warm, rich voice, even over a telephone line. It must soothe the jangled nerves of his clients, Joe thought.

"Well, fancy that, Aunt Gertrude being concerned about us!"

Mr. Hardy chuckled. "How is the case going?"

"Good. We've met Heinze so the 'mystery' of his disappearance is done with, but the situation isn't resolved yet. There's something we wanted to ask you. We met a fellow who calls himself Charles – that's supposed to be his last name. He claims to know you. What can you tell us about him?"

"Oh, sure, Niklas! I haven't heard from him in years. He used to be a private detective in New York, one of the best. He seemed to know everybody and to have connections everywhere. Drank too much though. He married a rich young woman and moved to San Francisco. I think he's looking after her businesses and isn't a detective anymore."

"The guy we know is maybe forty, slender build, has dark hair and a neat moustache."

"Sounds like the Nick I know. He's a particular dresser. He seemed to wear a different suit whenever I met him."

"Great. That all checks out then. Is there any chance he could be assisting the F.B.I.?"

"It's possible. The F.B.I. uses outside investigators for particular cases. It wouldn't be surprising if they asked for his help. Niklas is a competent fellow. You can expect the unexpected from Niklas."

"Thanks Dad. Sorry, but we don't have time to talk more right now. Say 'Hi' to Mom and Aunt Gertrude for us. We'll be in touch again soon."

The air was cool and refreshing this Saturday morning. It was hard to imagine all the soot that sifted down from the sky, the product of the tall chimneys of power plants on the waterfront. It was quieter today. Frank could hear the horns of steamships and freighters passing by on the East River some blocks away.

Leaving their hotel, the Hardys passed the newsstand. "What's the latest?" asked Joe.

"Oh, the police were knocking heads at the Yorkville Theater last night. A riot at the Nazi supporters' meeting."

That stopped the brothers in their tracks. Frank retraced his steps, flipped a coin to the vendor, and picked up a newspaper. The newspaper article reported that on Friday night there was a meeting of the German-American Alliance at the Yorkville Theater on East 88th Street. There were protesters outside belonging to various socialist and labor groups. A lecture was given, followed by several speeches. So far, everything had gone peacefully. The Alliance held a ceremony in which they inducted new members. Some of the protesters apparently had entered the theater. At this point they rushed the stage and tried to pull down a German flag. A brawl erupted. The socialists were outnumbered but one of them opened a fire door and shouted for help from his fellows outside on the sidewalk. They went in swinging their pickets like clubs. Somewhere in the meleé an Alliance member pulled a handgun and shots were fired. Two protesters went down. They were expected to recover. The police arrived at this time and eventually subdued the crowd.

"No doubt the police did a fair amount of clubbing of their own," said Frank. "I bet the socialists were at the receiving end of most of it."

"The police have to maintain order. It was the protesters that stormed the meeting."

"You're saying that because the fascists paid rent for the theater the police should take their side?"

"Of course the police shouldn't take any side, but it was a legitimate meeting and the protesters came in armed."

"Somebody else came armed and ready for trouble too. I bet the police didn't arrest the guy with the gun."

"No, it seems he slipped away in all the confusion," answered Joe, reading the rest of the story. "There are photographs too."

"Look, there's a portrait of George Washington hung on the stage right next to the swastika."

"I think they call him the original fascist."

"Let's see if the _Daily Telegram_ has a story on the riot." They purchased a copy of the tabloid.

"Well, well," said Joe. "There's a brief story. Guess who gets the byline. It's our friend, Molly Mirkin."

"Let's see now. The meeting started at eight. I guess Molly managed to miss the speeches and arrive in time for the fighting."

The Hardys arrived at Heinze's brownstone at noon. A group of boys, no more than ten years of age, walked pass. Wearing caps or fedoras and overcoats, they looked like miniaturized adults. Around the corner a man was selling vegetables off the back of a truck. He was hollering loud enough for residents of the top floor of the apartment buildings to hear him.

Otto, Olivia and their son were waiting for them in the cramped two rooms on the second floor. Joe turned his attention to the little boy. "How's our little baseball player?" Joe said he shook the boy's hand. The boy grinned but didn't say anything. He stood close to his mother and swiveled and swayed on the spot.

"He's a little shy around strangers. Aren't you, Charlie? Well these boys are our friends and they're going to help your father, so you'd better be nice to them."

"He's a bit young for baseball," said his smiling father, seated on the threadbare couch. "We will play catch in St. Nicholas Terrace Park. It's only a few blocks west. There are not many suitable playgrounds in this neighborhood. It is sad. The children play all day in the streets or in abandoned buildings. Some day soon I will take him to a New York Giants game at the Polo Grounds."

Frank chuckled. He explained, "It's just that Joe here is a big Yankees fan."

"Yes, but the Yankees are the team of the Bronx, the Giants are Manhattan's team, is that not so?"

Joe grinned. "That's one way of looking at it, I suppose."

Frank saw that Charlie was not quite used to having a father in the house. At times, Charlie looked blankly and uncertainly at Heinze. His attention turned to his mother for reassurance.

As if she could read his thoughts, Olivia said, "Charlie needs a father now. Otto came back just in time. You see the boys just a bit older than he is and they're spending all day in the streets. It won't take much for them to get into trouble, and one thing leads to another."

Joe looked out the dirt-streaked window. The apartment building across the street had had all of its windows removed and the openings were boarded up with planks. On the ground floor all the wood was covered with advertising posters which were now faded and peeling off. At the entrance someone had painted 'Danger Keep Out' in clumsy letters on the wood. Girls were skipping rope on the sidewalk, singing out rhymes.

"We should be going soon," said Heinze. "We need to take the child back to Olivia's place where her sister can look after him. Olivia has a rehearsal with the band this afternoon at Earl's. We can go there and eat."

Three men were waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. One of them was the young gunman the Hardys had disarmed the previous night. Stepping forward to confront Heinze was a short, older man. His thinning white hair rimmed a pink bald top. Joe decided he must have been the man sitting in the car outside Earl's last night.

"We've seen enough of the foot soldiers," said Joe. "It's about time we met the officers in charge."

"I've got a score to settle with these two," snarled the young gunman.


	14. Chapter 14

"Forget it," the balding man snapped to his accomplice. "Mr. Heinze, you've been elusive. Now the game's up. Please come peaceably with us and don't tempt these boys to acts of violence. Oh, and don't forget to bring along your briefcase. Somebody go help him and see he doesn't leave anything behind."

Heinze did as he was told. He re-appeared at the bottom of the stairs a few minutes later.

"Open it."

Heinze opened the case. The bald man flipped carefully through the pages. Frank and Joe watched intently. There was a neat stack of papers. The larger sheets had been folded so that they were the same size as the typewritten pages. The text was in German with some pages covered in mathematics. Some pages had been rubber-stamped. Frank had a sinking feeling. He was thinking that the one thing that would delay Heinze's fate was if the kidnappers couldn't get their hands on the plans.

"Very good. That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

There were no tearful good-byes. Heinze put his arm on Olivia's collar and kissed her briefly on the cheek. He took a last, pained glance back at Charlie. Joe thought that Olivia was fighting the urge to fling her arms around Heinze and hold on to him tightly. He could see the strain in her body and on her face. As the gunmen led Heinze away, the older man looked back and said, "I might say, 'See you again some time', but I highly doubt it." Olivia give him a cold scowl.

Joe was watching Olivia as the black sedan pulled away. "I waited for him for eight years. I'm not going to lose him again." Over the next moments, Olivia's face showed her struggle not to fall apart.

Her voice began shakily but gradually she gained control of her emotions. "You know, he only saw Charlie on Wednesday and already his plans revolve around the boy. He said to me the other night he wanted to live in a place where there was a big blue sky and empty spaces, like Arizona or southern California. He wants to work on his project out in the desert." She chuckled. "What does he know about Arizona anyway? No more than me. He wants to buy a house some place where we can breathe clean air. And Charlie can play baseball, and we can have peace and live like other people."

She smiled wistfully. "I'm proud of him. He's a brave man. You've got to give him credit for that. He's brave for coming back to me and Charlie. He's brave for leaving his missile program, even though these people want to drag him back to Germany as an enemy. Only a brave man would think up these beautiful dreams for Charlie and me."

"Was it hard accepting him back?" Joe asked.

"Sometimes it seems as if he'd never been away. There are people who just belong with each other, you know? It's like we've been together for years. Can you believe that when he told me he wouldn't be writing to me anymore, I cried for days? I cried and cried. But Charlie was scared to see me like that. He couldn't understand what was wrong with his mama. So I had to stop." She laughed and tears welled up in her eyes. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"We're not going to let those thugs get away with this," said Joe.

"I trust you boys. Don't let me down now."

Frank frowned and concentrated. "How did those guys know this address? Mr. Heinze didn't have a chance to tell anyone last night. Who else knew?"

"Besides my sister, only the landlord, but I don't see how they could find him without finding the building first. When Otto told me he wanted to disappear I thought of putting him in a hotel, like the Theresa, but he thought a house would be more private."

"Yeah, not so many creeps sitting in the lobby watching your comings and goings," interjected Joe.

"My sister knew there was an empty apartment in this place. We paid the landlord on Thursday. He spent that night here."

"And…uh, were you with him?"

"Yes," she said, matter-of-factly.

"What about last night?"

"I came here with him after our show."

"Did you notice anything unusual?"

"No, but we weren't paying much attention." Amusement lit up her eyes. Then she paused to think. Frank looked at her. "There was something odd. When Otto was opening the door to the building I looked back and I could have sworn that I saw someone smoking in the doorway of the building across the street."

"You mean the boarded-up building?"

"Yes. I saw the tip of a cigarette. Just for a moment."

Frank concentrated. "That would mean that someone was waiting for you. But then they would need to already know this address."

"Maybe it's nothing," said Olivia.

Joe was looking down at the tin ashtray on the table. "Say, Frank, did you notice that there are four cigarette butts in this ashtray?"

Frank took a look. "Three of them have lipstick on them."

"They're mine," said Olivia.

"But the fourth doesn't," said Joe.

"And Otto doesn't smoke." The three of them almost said this in unison. Frank and Joe laughed.

Frank explained. "Our friend Chet asked him about the smoking room onboard the zeppelin. Mr. Heinze said he knew nothing about it. He couldn't have avoided it during the course of a trans-Atlantic voyage if he was a smoker."

"So who does it belong to?" asked Olivia. "Otto didn't mention anyone coming in here."

"It could be a neighbor," said Frank. "I don't want to guess at the moment."

"Is there anything else I can do to help?"

Joe and Frank looked at each other. "Nothing comes to mind for now," said Frank.

"Then you'll have to excuse me, boys, I'm expected at the club soon. I can't do any good sitting here moping away. I have to get Charlie back home first."

"Yes, of course," said Frank. "Don't let us keep you."

"You do your job and I'll do mine," Olivia said emphatically. It was as if her emotions had gone around on a long journey in a short time and had returned home. "If you need to get in touch with me, you can call the club." She offered them a business card from her purse but the brothers had already picked one up at the club.

Joe looked admiringly at the retreating figures of mother and child.


	15. Chapter 15

The Hardys found Earl's almost empty. A woman with a bucket and a brush was scrubbing the floor where Montgomery Harris had lain the night before. "They keep adding new stains on top of the old ones," she complained.

"What's the latest news on Mr. Harris?" asked Frank.

She didn't bother looking up at the brothers or altering the rhythm of her hard scrubbing. "They performed surgery to remove the bullet. They're keeping him in hospital for observation, they said." Joe caught sight of her thin arms and the veins standing out prominently on her hands. He noticed the strands of gray hair among the black.

"That's a hard job," Joe ventured to say.

She raised her head and eyed him with a steady gaze through her round spectacles. She said staunchly, "My boys can't get regular work. People do worse things to make ends meet." Joe could not help but think of his own comfortable upbringing, insulated from the deprivations of the Great Depression, on the pleasant, tree-lined streets of Bayport.

"We should call Prof. Coville at home to let him know the latest developments," said Frank to his brother, eyeing the phone on the counter.

"While you're at it, let Lt. Korman know that his case is definitely not a suicide anymore. We could use the N.Y.P.D.'s help finding Heinze."

After the calls the brothers sat at a table in the empty club. Shafts of light entered through small square windows high up on one wall.

Frank took three cigarette stubs out of small envelopes and arranged them on the table. The brothers had gone to the apartment building across the street from Heinze's. Some of the boards over the front entrance had been pried loose. Stepping inside, they saw on the white, hexagon-patterned tile floor of the hallway two cigarette butts.

"They could be the same brand," suggested Frank.

"But there are no distinctive markings on them," argued Joe. "We can't conclude that. Plus we don't know if they're from the smoker Olivia saw."

The musicians were assembling on the stage. "Where's Toots?" Joe asked.

Chester was setting up music stands. "Let's just say he's in a world of his own right now."

"You mean he's indulging in the use of drugs?" Joe guessed.

"Most likely. He said he was going to last night. He should be all right by showtime tonight."

At that moment Toots Mayall ambled into the room. He had a gray hat with a short red feather on the side, which he wore at an angle. Frank thought that the clean white shirt he had on might be new.

"We thought you'd be out like a light," said Chester.

Toots pretended to be flabbergasted. "You think I would waste this fine day lying on my couch barely able to keep my eyelids up? You think I would tie up my arm with a rubber hose and stick a needle into my veins? No, not this Toots, not these days. I'm strictly a recreational drug user now. Look at what the candyman brought." Toots was carrying a paper bag which he opened to show them. It was filled purple and green pills.

"These are the latest thing, Benzedrine in pill form. One of the marvels of modern chemical science. Pretty soon it'll be a fad with all you kids. It makes you think sharper, gives you energy." Toots grinned.

"It's a powerful drug prescribed for the treatment of psychological problems," warned Frank. "It's addictive and shouldn't be abused."

"Besides, this isn't any old junk you get from your corner dealer. These here pills are produced by the finest labs in America."

"What are the other ones?" inquired Joe.

"I think he said they're Phenobarbitol."

Frank was aghast. "An overdose of that will kill you or put you into a coma."

"Either your dealer is having a sale today or it seems you've come into some money recently," Joe remarked.

Toots glanced at his band mates. They were looking at their music sheets and pretending they weren't listening. Frank guessed that Toots might have thought of lying about his paycheck but the others would give him away. Toots, no longer grinning, took up a chair at the Hardys' table.

"Do you know Molly Mirkin?" Frank continued. "She writes for the _Daily Telegram_."

"Can't say I'm acquainted with the lady."

"This is what I'm thinking. You saw her story in the newspaper. You knew Heinze came to the club. Some time yesterday you contacted her and sold her the information. She met you outside the club during the break between sets. She's the white woman those gun-toting thugs saw you talking to. You're the 'source' she keeps reminding us she has."

"You've been doing a lot of thinking, but you've got it all wrong. I never read the _Daily Telegram_. I did talk to a woman outside but I don't know if her name is Molly or Sally or what have you."

"Can I ask what you talked about?" asked Frank.

"Would you believe she asked me about a song I played."

Joe was beginning to realize something. "On stage last night, whenever you weren't playing, your eyes were drawn to Olivia, as if you couldn't help yourself. I think you're in love with her. I think you were jealous when you heard Heinze had come back. You followed them back to his place on Thursday night. You're the one who knows his address and didn't keep it to yourself."

The musicians on stage could see that the discussion was going to continue for a while. They didn't want to eavesdrop. They left their music and went to the kitchen to get lunch.

"But he must have had the money earlier because he got his horn out of the pawnshop," Joe reminded his brother.

Frank nodded, remembering. "You were shopping your information around, weren't you? Who did you talk to, the Germans?"

"The Germans? Hell, no! Those Nazis hate us. They hate our music. We're degenerates to them. You think I would deal with them? They make my skin crawl."

"Then who gave you the money for the horn?"

Toots looked around vacantly, lifting his arms in a gesture of exasperation. "There's no getting rid of you guys once you've sunk your teeth into my leg, is there? Well, all right then. There's no reason for me to protect this guy. He gave his name as Lombard. Chester tells me that he and the German used to come down to the clubs to check out the music, years ago. I never knew him back then. He showed up here a couple of weeks ago. He was talking to the band, letting us know that the German was thinking of getting back together with Olivia. That got my attention. Now Lombard, he had no idea I had feelings for Olivia. We talked out a deal to put money in my wallet. He wanted me to report on what the German and Olivia were doing. He said he was only interested as a friend. I had my doubts about him. I thought, if he's such a good friend, why does he need to pay me to spy? But I needed the money."

"But you also had your personal interest," Frank pointed out.

"Yeah, it's not a pretty thing to admit to. Lombard said that the German would be in danger from his own people, as a traitor I suppose. As soon as I heard he was wanting to get back with Olivia I wanted in the worst way to get rid of him. Yeah, that's what I wanted even though I've got nothing going with Olivia. Thursday night I followed them home. They only had eyes for each other and they were a bit drunk so they didn't notice me.

"You know, that German isn't going to take her away to some shiny castle. Most of the places he goes he won't be able to take her. What is she going to do, eat in the car while he goes to some fancy dinner? How much of that can she take?

"Those college people can't help but hate her. They don't want to see one of us get our foot in the door. Oh, I know, there are some who want to show the world what free spirits and advanced thinkers they are. They'll take her around to show their friends. They'll make a scene at parties. It's that way for a jazz musician, too. You don't need me to tell you how far you can depend on friends like that.

"Plenty of her own folk will hate her too. They'll think she's trying to climb up over them by marrying that guy. How much hostility can that woman stomach?"

"Mr. Mayall," Joe finally said, "don't you think Olivia has thought of all that? Can't you recognize love when you see it?"

That gave Toots pause and he said nothing but looked at his slender, delicate hands.

Frank had not finished his line of questioning. "You only gave the address to Martin Lombard?"

"I don't know any German spies and I wouldn't know how to find them if I wanted to. I met Lombard yesterday afternoon. He seemed happy to pay up. He had this sly grin on his face. I figured Lombard would grab his friend and take him out of here. Or maybe he intended to turn him over to the Germans. Either way he'd be gone from Olivia's life again."

"Well, you've got what you wished for. Heinze was taken away at gunpoint no more than half an hour ago," said Frank bitterly. "And by goons who would make your skin crawl too, I bet."

"How long have you known her?" Joe asked.

"Three years. She's had men in her life during that time but none serious. She won't give me a chance. I know I can be steady. I know I can be a good father for her kid. She won't let me near Charlie. She says her personal life is private. I want our lives to be private together. What's a man supposed to want? It's another door slammed in my face."

"Olivia wouldn't suspect that her own friend has betrayed her like this."

"Mr. Mayall," said Frank sympathetically but firmly, "what did you mean when you said you could turn over a new leaf?"

"All right, so I've been popping more of these pills than is good for me. I know what you boys are thinking. But I'm not some old junkie shuffling along the sidewalk in shoes with the sole flapping loose, holding out his hand for spare change. I go into and out of my bad habits. But I've been pretty much clean for nearly all the time I've known Olivia. She's heard old stories about me, that's all it is. It's the reputation I had when I wasn't much older than you."

Olivia entered the room. "Sorry I'm late, boys. Laetitia was late coming home from her appointment. Hey, where is everybody?" She took a long look at Toots sitting at the table with the Hardys.

"They're in the kitchen eating," Joe replied. "We were about finished here. Have a good rehearsal."

"What were you talking about?" Olivia demanded, staring at Toots.

"Nothing much." he said softly, evading her eyes.


	16. Chapter 16

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," said Lombard. "Ah, the Hardy boys. What can I do for you?"

Joe and Frank entered Lombard's office and steered themselves into chairs without asking for permission. "We thought you might be in your office," said Joe. "Let's not play games. We could tell you that we found Heinze and you could pretend to be delighted. Then we could say that we lost him again when he was kidnapped at gunpoint by three guys. You could make a show of shock and worry. But let's skip that, okay?"

"What is this all about?" muttered Lombard, grimacing.

"You already know what happened. I recognize that stack of papers on your desk."

Lombard looked up from the pages quizzically, like a man who hears an odd noise in the room. He looked at the brothers and considered carefully for some moments. He concluded, "Then there's no point bluffing."

"It was right in front of my face," said Frank. "The photo of Olivia and Heinze was in your office. You're the only one who knew about the scholarship, had any interest in it, and also knew about Olivia and Heinze. You must have been the one who leaked the story to the scholarship committee. I didn't think about it because it didn't seem to have any relevance."

Joe continued. "Toots was motivated by passion but I bet with you it was cold envy. Envy and ambition. You couldn't stand Heinze's success. You wanted the scholarships and the research grants for your own work."

"Otto's work always overshadowed my own. I had no chance of realizing my ambitions while he was the star of the college. I counted down the days before he would go back to Europe."

"You were so proud of your betrayal of your friend you had the picture framed and hung on your wall," said Joe. "Now, eight years later, you've done it again. You must have worked out a deal with the kidnappers. You tell them Heinze's address. They do the dirty work and capture him. That would eliminate Heinze. The plans are delivered to you. What did you tell them, that you would authenticate the plans? It looks like they didn't waste any time getting them to you."

"Otto put himself into my power as soon as he stepped off his tidy career path and ran back to that cheap black tramp. I always knew his skirt-chasing would lead him into trouble."

"That explains why you were so helpful with Heinze's disappearing act," Joe concluded. "You figured you would be the only one who had access to him, but he didn't quite trust you a hundred per cent."

"Which of his enemies did you betray him to?" demanded Frank. "You wouldn't have left him to the Germans because they would seize the plans immediately from Heinze. Then you would be no better off."

Lombard grimly kept his silence.

"You know what I think?" continued Frank. "I think you betrayed Heinze to the German-American Alliance. They, in turn, would deliver him and the plans to their German masters. I remember we saw your camera in this office. The Alliance would get the plans but not before you photographed the pages. You study them and turn them over to the American authorities. There's even the possibility you might get treated like some kind of hero. The idea is that you would get a chance to work on the American version of the missile project. Wasn't that your plan?"

"The Alliance are no more than beer hall fascists. They're poor and powerless. After a few beers and a rousing speech they feel the urge to go out and beat up Jews and blacks. They're essentially ignorant, mindless rabble." Having expressed his opinion, Lombard shrugged and looked away indifferently.

"Yet these are the people you made a deal with, aren't they?"

Joe was insistent. "There isn't much time. You better tell us where Heinze is being held. If you don't tell us you can tell the F.B.I."

"I assure you that the bureau would very much like to know the present whereabouts of Mr. Heinze." The voice came from the doorway. It had the calm, suave tones of Mr. Charles. He wore a light gray, double-breasted suit and a hat of the same color.

"How did you find your way here?" wondered Frank.

"Oh, pretty much the same way as you boys. I visited Montgomery in hospital this morning. I asked him if he had noticed anyone talking to Olivia's band members recently. He described a man I took to be Martin Lombard as someone who came into the club and stood drinks for the band. He was back a couple of days later to speak with Mr. Mayall. He definitely did not talk to them when Olivia was around. Knowing Mr. Mayall's appetite for illicit substances and his lack of financial resources to purchase same, I could guess what that dealing was about. I came here from Earl's. They passed along what you told them had happened. I came to the same conclusion you boys did."

"Do you expect me to believe that you're an F.B.I. agent?" asked Lombard acidly.

"No, I'm not suited for full time work," Charles laughed. "The bureau has from time to time asked for my assistance on New York cases, knowing my good contacts here. Now Mr. Lombard, I would ask that you pass over the papers. I think it would be in the best interests of your career if you cooperated with the F.B.I. I don't think you want them as your enemy."

Lombard handed over the stack of papers without getting out of his chair. "Otto has gone to a great deal of trouble preparing these. They are very authentic-looking. Much of the work looks plausible but there are specifications that are preposterous. Moreover, much detail has been left out. These plans are a useless decoy."

"That's why you don't have the camera out," Joe realized. "But there must be a real set of plans. Heinze couldn't keep all that detail in his head."

"Lombard, your scheming has failed," declared Charles. "Why not cooperate with us fully? Tell us what happened to Heinze."

Lombard thought for some time. Then he said, "Very well. I contacted the Alliance the week before Otto's arrival. I explained the situation and my plan. They said someone would be in touch with me. Later I met with a man giving the name Ahlberg in a diner. He seemed a well-educated, capable man in his sixties. On Friday night, after I knew where Otto was, I phoned Mr. Ahlberg and informed him. He assured me that all would be taken care of as we had discussed. That was all. This afternoon two men delivered the supposed plans to me. That is all I can help you with."

"What did this Mr. Ahlberg look like?" Charles questioned.

"He was short, a little stocky. He had a fringe of short white hair on the sides of his head. He had a pinkish face, with some deep wrinkles." Lombard seemed bored by the whole business now and was not even bothering to look at them.

"He sounds familiar enough," said Frank.

"He's probably the man in the black sedan last night at Earl's, too," Joe speculated.

Frank said, "They guessed that Mr. Heinze would be at the club and tried to grab him Friday night. They might have succeeded too if those gun-crazy thugs hadn't started blasting away."

"The question is, where do we go from here?" Mr. Charles was talking to himself more than he was asking the boys. "I think, Prof. Lombard, that you should deliver the plans to Mr. Ahlberg according to schedule. The only difference is that the boys and I will tag along."


	17. Chapter 17

Looking down the street the dark brick buildings on either side converged to a distant point. The dreary walls were interrupted only by gaps where buildings had been demolished in expectation of profitable redevelopment. With the demand for commercial space extinguished by the Depression these lots were left vacant, surrounded by wooden fences. The bare, hard dirt was strewn with piles of remnant bricks and broken sinks.

The Hardy boys sat in a car with Mr. Charles. Across the street was a metal sign that read, "Al's Hero Sandwiches." Behind the steamed-up windows Prof. Lombard was seated at a booth upholstered in red vinyl. He looked a little out of place in his expensive woolen overcoat. He kept his hat on. On the Formica tabletop was a mug of coffee and a barely-touched slice of cherry pie.

"What makes you so sure that Lombard is cooperating with us and not still working with the Alliance?" asked Joe.

"If Lombard thinks about it, and I'm sure he has, there's very little chance he can copy the true plans even if the Alliance recovers them," argued Mr. Charles. "The Alliance might give up the idea of finding the plans and deliver Mr. Heinze over to the Germans without them. Once Heinze is captured by the Germans he will either reveal the location of the plans or, I'm afraid, that secret will die with him. In either case Lombard's idea of being involved in an American missile effort would evaporate. On the other hand, if the F.B.I. obtains the plans there's still a chance for him."

Charles caught Joe's grimace of displeasure but he continued. "I'm counting on Lombard telling the Alliance the truth about the plans. They might lead us to Heinze. At least it will buy us some more time to find him."

"I know Lombard hasn't committed any crime," admitted Joe, "but I wish there was something we could pin on him. I don't like the idea that he could walk out of this smelling like roses."

Charles took note of the plainclothes policemen sitting in the brown Ford on the next block and those seated at the counter in the café. Lt. Korman stationed himself around the corner and out of view.

"Duck down," ordered Charles, "this looks like them." In the late afternoon sunshine a black sedan pulled up. Charles described events for the benefit of the brothers. "Ahlberg is getting out of the car. One of his men is with him."

The transaction did not take long. Lombard had brought the fake plans in a briefcase. Ahlberg now exited apparently empty-handed.

"Let's see if we can spring this trap," announced Charles. He waited to let the policemen's car on the next block take up the pursuit of Ahlberg's sedan. "Ahlberg might spot you two. Let's hang back and follow the police."

Ahlberg's car was too far ahead to be seen but the brown Ford was easily tailed. The procession followed a route through mid-town Manhattan, eastward on 22nd Street, at a leisurely pace. "No sign they suspect a tail," remarked Frank.

"See if you can keep an eye on them with these." Charles handed Frank in the front seat a pair of opera glasses.

"You go to the opera?" asked Frank.

"Don't sound so surprised. I happen to be a cultured gentleman." Charles looked to see if they believed him. "My wife attends; it's a family tradition. One of her aunts was smitten by Caruso."

The black Buick reached Madison Avenue and turned north. It continued in that direction for many blocks, until it reached 56th Street.

"Can you make out who's that in the turquoise car?" Charles asked, pointing.

Parked there was a turquoise Auburn coupe. It was not the sort of car that was easily missed. "It's Molly Mirkin!"

"Hold on, what's Molly Mirkin doing here?" Joe demanded.

"Miss Mirkin has been writing a series on the mysterious aviator Robert Soderstrom. Soderstrom's archaeological institute happens to be housed in the Fuller Building directly across the street." Charles pointed to an office tower to their left.

"Does that have anything to do with the Alliance or Ahlberg?" Joe shot a glance at his brother, who shared his mystification.

The black Buick switched to the right lane and made a right turn.

"Ahlberg is a friend or employee of Mr. Soderstrom's," Charles continued to explain. "Molly must have seen him at the institute's office. Ahlberg was at the Yorkville Theater riot last night. I wouldn't be surprised if his gunmen were responsible for the shots fired. Molly wrote a story on it. Did you see it?"

Earlier in the day, Joe had torn out the page of the newspaper, folded it and stuck it, unexamined, in his pocket. He unfolded it now. "We should have looked at this before. There's a picture of Ahlberg right here." In the background of one of the riot photos could clearly be seen the figure of Mr. Ahlberg.

"Does everyone know this stuff except us?" wondered Joe.

"No," Charles chuckled, "hardly anyone knows this stuff. Ahlberg and Soderstrom are very secretive men. I have this information only through my F.B.I. contacts."

"Molly made the connection between the Alliance, Ahlberg and Soderstrom," Frank reasoned out loud. "Molly's interest in Heinze must have come from Soderstrom. Soderstrom at some time must have mentioned Heinze's name."

Charles, in the meantime, had made the right turn and left Madison Avenue behind. In response to Frank's questioning glance he said, "If Molly's going to wait for Mr. Ahlberg she'll have to wait a little longer."

A block later the black car made another right turn. "I don't think he's trying to evade us," Frank observed. "I think he's looking for a parking spot."

Charles' car soon cruised past the black Buick as it pulled up to the curb. He turned the next corner. "How about playing a hunch, boys? I'm going to let you off right here. You make a beeline for Soderstrom's offices. I'm sure that's where they're all headed. I'll park the car and join you later."

"You think they're holding Heinze in there, don't you?" said Joe with suppressed excitement. "Let's go get him."


	18. Chapter 18

Hardly had the brothers hopped out of Mr. Charles' car than they heard a shout, "It's the cops!" The Hardys instinctively dashed around the corner, towards the sound. They saw Ahlberg standing on the sidewalk close to his car, not showing any signs of taking flight. His young henchman was running across the middle of the street, dodging traffic. The Hardys quickly spotted two police officers, one ahead of them on the west side of Park Avenue, the other kitty-corner to the southeast. The two police cars were still in the traffic. Realizing that they had been spotted, the police poured out of their vehicles to pursue on foot. The young gunman made it across to the east sidewalk, ignoring the cacophony of honking horns. He pulled out his gun from the inside of his coat, whirled and fired recklessly toward the cluster of police crossing the intersection. Bystanders screamed.

Without a word, Joe ran across the stream of traffic in pursuit. Thankfully the cars had almost come to a standstill as the drivers watched in disbelief. The shots forced the police to advance more cautiously. They flattened themselves against the buildings, seeking whatever protection the architectural structure could provide.

The gunman turned to run and bumped into a man carrying shopping bags. He was shoved ruthlessly aside and crashed, arms flailing, into the sidewalk display of a florist's. Rows of buckets holding flower bouquets toppled from the wooden stands, splashing and spilling onto the sidewalk.

The gunman continued to flee northward, zigzagging a path through the panic-stricken shoppers who, too close to take cover, could only step aside. A woman plucked up her toddler and held its face against her fur coat. A white-haired couple clung to each other. Across the street Lt. Korman and his men were running a parallel course. The gunman could see that the police would reach the end of the block before he would and cut him off. He ran with both arms extended, training the gun on his pursuers. The police had to run bent forward to gain protection from the line of parked cars.

Seemingly oblivious to danger, Joe sprinted to close the distance between himself and the gunman. Joe could see the ashen face of the shooter, staring wide-eyed with a mixture of fear and shock that Joe was so close. The gunman fired another shot. But Joe had watched him raise his arm and anticipated the gunfire. He lunged for a doorway and heard the bullet ricochet off the stone wall a couple of feet from him. He barely felt any pain from his knee landing on the stone step. Joe may have seemed foolhardy but he was constantly calculating the places where he could find cover.

Frank had no choice but to follow his brother but he was some thirty yards further back. He could only shake his head in admiration at his brother's single-minded intensity. Just behind him were the police. They had their revolvers out but could not chance a shot on such crowded streets.

The fleeing man turned to his right, eastward, when he reached the corner. When Joe got there he halted. The flat brick wall of the corner building provided no shield from bullets. He would have to let the figure of the gunman recede for a few seconds before he resumed the pursuit, for safety's sake. This didn't discourage Joe because it was clear to him where his quarry was going. At the end of the block was a stairway down to a station on the Lexington Avenue subway line. It occurred to Joe that the man he was pursuing may have fired the shots at Montgomery Harris or in the Yorkville Theater. That would explain his desperation to avoid capture.

Joe thought the pursued man had put his gun away and was intent on escaping not shooting, so it was safe to close the gap. Joe was aware that if he ran among the pedestrians he might draw fire, endangering their lives as well. Some were watching fearfully, others looked around, bewildered by the shots and screams, still others were unaware of any danger. Joe ran close to the curb, taking advantage of the trees planted in the sidewalk. He watched the gunman's back disappear down the stairs. Joe slid his back along the black metal railing on the right-hand side as he stepped down. At the bottom he peered around. There was no sign of the gunman. There were no running footsteps. Joe ventured forward. A passageway connected stairwells on either side of the street. Another passageway led in the direction of the trains. Joe could see no sign of the gunman but didn't hesitate to head toward the train platform.

Joe's eyes took some adjusting to the yellow light coming from the fixtures in the slightly curved ceiling. The light turned the shiny white ceramic tiles that covered both walls of the passage into ivory. A number of subway riders coming off a train passed Joe. A man and a woman walked arm in arm. She was wearing a cloche hat, a long brown coat with a fur collar, and bright green pumps. The couple seemed very relaxed, Joe thought. The gunman must have slowed to a walk and is trying to blend into the crowd, he concluded.

At the end of the passage was a chamber which featured two ticket vending booths, only one of which had an attendant now. Metal barriers kept the lines separate. Behind glass on the walls were maps of the subway system, notices on littering, and signs giving hours of operation. There was a row of newspaper vending boxes. Most passengers had nickels to put into the turnstiles so they didn't have to line up at the booth. A stream of passengers leaving the station passed on the left. Directly in front of Joe two men were waiting at the ticket booth. Stepping to one side, Joe looked but could not spot his quarry. Had the man already gone down to the train platform? That wouldn't have been possible, Joe reasoned, unless he had been running.

"Hey, stop right there!" Joe shouted. The man hadn't gone through the turnstiles -- he had joined the crowd exiting the station and was trying to slip past him!

Knowing he had been spotted, the gunman could have run. Instead he raised his gun and aimed it at the younger Hardy. Joe was startled but he hit the floor and rolled between the newspaper boxes. Joe thought he saw a glimpse of the gunman's face showing his exasperation and fury. Was that just his imagination, Joe wondered. Joe rested his sweaty forehead against the cold metal of the box. What if the gunman calmly walked over to him and shot him point blank? Only the policemen behind them had kept the gunman propelled forward but what if he put this out of his mind, determined to rid himself of his persistent pursuer? Joe's heart felt like it had dropped into a cold, black lake. The seconds dragged by. Then his anxiety got the better of him. He peered from behind the metal box, his face against the smooth concrete floor. The gunman was struggling with his gun. The gun had jammed! The man cursed and tried squeezing the trigger a couple of times more. Then he flung the useless firearm aside and began running back down the tunnel the way he and Joe had come. Joe understood that without his weapon he could not possibly evade capture inside the station – some of the crowd would surely restrain him until the police arrived. Joe scrambled to his feet sensing that his chase would soon be over.

At the junction of the two underground passageways the young gunman spun around to look at Joe rushing towards him. If there had been a furious expression on his face earlier it was gone, as if he had cast it aside along with his gun. He regarded his blond pursuer calmly. He slipped his right hand inside his coat. Joe stopped in his tracks. Did he have another gun? A knife, perhaps? At that moment two bullets spiraled through the air of the tunnel that connected the two sides of the street and tore through the gunman's body. His hat toppled off his head and floated to the ground.

Joe imagined hearing his own voice scream, "Don't shoot!", knowing that it would have been futile. As Joe stood over the shot man he watched his eyes roll upwards. The man's mouth popped open slightly and he made an exhaling sound like a soft grunt. Then the eyes were locked in a frozen unconscious stare. The gunman was not much older than he was.

Joe was aware of the clatter of the policemen's shoes reverberating in the tunnel. They arrived to stand over the body which lay motionless at the center of a spreading pool of blood. Without thinking why he did it, Joe shifted the hat over so that it wouldn't be ruined by the blood. Someone opened the dead man's coat before the blood could dry and glue his clothes in place. "What was he reaching for anyway?" someone asked angrily. There was only an empty holster on a shoulder strap. "Maybe he was going for his hankie to blow his nose," Joe heard someone say.

Joe was going to mention that the dead man had thrown his gun away because it jammed but the words coagulated in his throat and he said nothing audible. Frank Hardy had arrived with the police and Joe was aware that his brother was looking at him with concern. Joe's mind flipped back to the charwoman in Earl's. He thought of all the sons who would add their blood to the stains on all the tired old wooden floors the world over.


	19. Chapter 19

The Hardys left the death scene to the police and sifted slowly through the gathered crowd. Frank told an officer that if Lt. Korman needed to talk to them he knew their hotel. Joe seemed in a daze. At that time the Hardys managed to carry out their investigations without being much exposed to the brutal realities of criminal life.

Joe was struggling with some thoughts. "I was still thinking about that cleaning woman back at Earl's," he explained. "I can see how a young guy could be attracted to that sort of thing, the easy money, the glamor. I mean, you wouldn't want your mother to be …"

"Yeah, I know what you're trying to say. But then, if you're not crazy or stupid, you'd know how it would end. Like that. And then how would your mother feel, or anyone else who knew you and cared about you?"

The sun was lost behind buildings although the clear sky was still bright. Bluish shade bathed the streets. The shoppers were departing and an evening crowd was replacing them. Men emerged from their private clubs for dinner engagements. Young men escorted women wearing white gloves and long silk gowns. They walked with an air of leisurely enjoyment, unlike the bustle of working life. It suddenly struck Frank how strange a place the big city was. A block or so away from the subway station everyone was engaged in their personal pursuits and had no reason for care or concern. Here on the street people had healthy pink faces, glowing from the cool air.

The brothers walked silently for a while. Frank took the direction back to the Fuller Building and Joe seemed to follow without comment. Frank wondered if, after the violent scene he had witnessed, his brother had let their mission to find Heinze slip from his mind.

"Mr. Charles is probably waiting for us at the Fuller Building. I suppose Molly's there as well," Frank reminded his brother. Joe didn't make any response.

"Are you going to be all right?" Once Frank said it, it seemed quite natural and he didn't feel awkward.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

The Fuller Building had a broad base clad in black granite. From this emerged, after an elaborate series of geometric setbacks, a slender tower in a lighter stone. High above the entrance was a sculpture of two men naked to their waists standing in front of a stylized city skyline. Inside, the lobby walls were decorated with murals that depicted vast panoramas of the great building projects in history: the pyramids, the Great Wall of China, the Parthenon, the cathedrals of Europe.

"I guess that's appropriate. Except that Soderstrom thinks they were all built by people from Atlantis," Frank quipped. Joe laughed. Frank was relieved to hear the sound so familiar to him.

Charles and Molly Mirkin were waiting for them in the lobby. Molly had on a tan suit and a small Robin Hood hat, tilted at an angle.

"What's your plan for getting into Soderstrom's offices?" Molly asked excitedly.

"I thought you knew the guy. Why don't you just introduce us," was Frank's answer.

"Oh, don't be smart! I know you think he's holding Heinze up there. He's not going to invite us in to show us his captive German scientist."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well, he hasn't seen you two before. I thought maybe you could disguise yourselves as caterers. You could be pushing a trolley."

"Where would you be?" asked Joe skeptically.

"I'd be in the trolley! You could cover the top with a white cloth and drape it over the sides…"

"I hate to tell you this," said Frank, "but that sort of thing only works in Marx Brothers movies."

"And then only if you already know the password, 'Swordfish'!" Joe couldn't help adding.

"You try to come up with a better idea!" Molly poked Joe in the arm. "You could always burst in guns blazing!"

"No, that's not going to happen," Joe declared solemnly. "We don't even carry firearms."

"Oh, I forget. You're too young to be proper, licensed private detectives." After a pause she added, "Sorry, I don't mean to offend you."

"You mean everything you say. Never mind. We don't feel any need to act like tough guy private eyes."

"Thanks for the swell suggestions, Molly," said Frank, "but I think that we'll contact Lt. Korman. He and his men are only a few blocks from here."

"And he's going to stay a few blocks away," said Charles. "He doesn't know about this address and I doubt if Ahlberg will tell him anything. We've got the jump on the police. I think we should take advantage of it." Joe and Frank were surprised; Molly was not, or did not show it.

"Let me put my cards on the table, boys," Charles continued. "You remember that I said I knew about Heinze because of the files of an organization? I wasn't lying. The organization in question wasn't the F.B.I., though, it was the Communist Party U.S.A."

Joe laughed. "You, a communist? That's even more unbelievable than you as F.B.I.!"

Charles grinned slyly. "I'm full of surprises, boys. You should know that I did some work for them when they were trying to unionize textile workers in Georgia. I've investigated corporate malfeasance among U.S. steel companies. Oh, yes, I have a long history with them. You won't find me getting my head busted at some labor rally, though."

"No, you might muss up your suit," Joe observed.

"So what's your game now?" asked Frank sternly.

"It's very simple but I might as well spell it out for you. I want to expose the German missile plans. That would shock the American people out of their comfortable dream of safety. The best hope of stopping the worldwide spread of fascism is an uncompromising response from the democracies of the world. Are you on side, boys?"

Joe and Frank looked at each other. They were noncomittal. Charles grinned. "I can see your problems. Welcome to the murky world of international espionage."

"Why don't we ask Heinze what he thinks about this?" Frank was as much thinking out loud as responding.

"Very judicious of you."

"This explains why you're here, doesn't it?" Joe looked sharply at Molly. "You're here for the scoop. Charles is counting on you to publish the story about the missile development."

"I have to say," Molly said excitedly, "that I can see the headlines now, 'Terror from the skies!'."

"It's almost as important," Charles interjected, "to destroy Soderstrom's credibility as to reveal the missile plans."

"I was hoping to tie Soderstrom to the Alliance but I couldn't get hard evidence. I saw Ahlberg, or whatever his name is, with both, but he has no official position with either the Alliance or Soderstrom's institute. Now if we find Heinze being held up there, think of the story! Robert Soderstrom, decorated war hero, air defense lobbyist, is revealed as a Nazi sympathizer!"

"Charles was your source of information all along," Joe reasoned. "He told you about Heinze. He sent you to cover the Alliance meeting at the theater in Yorkville. He invited you to Earl's."

"I'd like to think that we agreed to share our information."

"And that accounts for how Charles knew you would be at this building," Joe continued. "I was wondering how he managed to spot your car on the street." Turning to Charles he said, "I suppose it's your friends in the Communist Party that have been keeping files on people like Soderstrom and Ahlberg."

Molly broke in. "I was thinking about our entry again. I'm betting that Soderstrom wouldn't do anything that might lead to a messy police investigation. That would cause the politicians in Washington to steer clear of him. He has to maintain his squeaky clean reputation."

"I'm glad you're thinking sensibly," said Charles. "I didn't relish crawling through a ventilation shaft to break into his offices. As for shooting our way in, I'm afraid my days of playing cowboys and Indians are long past."

"Now you're making fun of me. I was trying to be helpful. Look, Robert has been a perfect darling to me. I say we just go up there and say that we have something important to discuss with him."

They went to talk to the lone security guard sitting at his desk in the lobby.

"My good man," Charles began, "we need to see a man with an office on the sixteenth floor."

"I'm afraid I can't admit you to the upper floors of the building unless you can show that you have business with one of the tenants."

"But these are the Hardy Boys on one of their investigations."

"The Hardy Boys! Goodness, I'm big fans of yours."

"That's wonderful," said Frank a little dubiously.

"My favorite was 'The Secret of the Wooden Lady'".

"You don't say."

"Well, go right ahead. I don't want people to think that I got in the way of a Hardy Boys investigation. In fact, maybe I can get some credit for letting you guys in. The name's Cleary, Alvin Cleary. That's spelled with an 'A'."

"That's just great, Mr. Cleary. Thank you very much."

" 'Alvin' with an 'A'. Fascinating!" said Joe.

"No, I mean it's 'Cleary' with…"

They passed the guard and approached the elevators. The elevator doors were bronze with a design in low relief of a city skyline against a radiant sun.

"'The Secret of the Wooden Lady'?" Joe queried with a wry grin.

"It's one of Nancy Drew's cases," whispered Frank smirking.


	20. Chapter 20

The offices of the Institute for Central Asian Archaeology took up the entire sixteenth floor of the Fuller Building. It was behind double wooden doors unadorned except for the Institute's name in brass letters. The door was unlocked and the Hardys with Molly and Mr. Charles let themselves in.

Seated at the receptionist's desk was the gunman familiar to Frank and Joe from their hotel lobby. His feet were up on the desk. He had on his hat, a white shirt and a vest. His tie was loosened. His gun was prominently displayed on its shoulder strap. On recognizing the Hardys his body snapped erect in the chair. Charles eyed him with a wary gaze, as if he were a dog that might snap at his ankles at any moment. Before the gunman had made up his mind to do anything Charles approached the desk, saying casually, "You'd better let your boss know that he has visitors." The gunman's hostility was mixed with a fair amount of puzzlement. He retreated, adjusting his tie, and knocked on a door just off the reception area.

The interlopers were soon led into Robert Soderstrom's office. There were displayed the Asian art objects one might have expected: silk scroll paintings; a multi-colored Indonesian dance mask of a fanged demon; blue and white Chinese porcelain vases large enough for a man to climb into. There were two items of furniture, too, of evident Asian origin: a side table fashioned from teak and Soderstrom's Chinese desk, of gleaming black lacquer decorated with inlaid mother-of-pearl on the drawers and the sides. On the desk was a metal model of an airplane, a sleek, silvery monoplane, probably like the kind Soderstrom used to fly in Asia. Behind the desk hung a large map of the world. The room was spacious enough to be an apartment or a hotel suite rather than one man's office.

Robert Soderstrom stood behind his desk. He wore a dark gray suit with pinstripes. Even the finely-tailored suit couldn't prevent an impression of angular lankiness in his build. His hair was a golden blond fading to gray at the temples. It wasn't quite regular, suggesting that he could not be bothered spending any more time combing it. He had small blue eyes that looked inquisitive or puzzled. His skin was ruddy with deep lines on his thin face. He looked like a man who had spent most of his life standing on airfields under the sun.

The Hardys were surprised to see Otto Heinze standing in the room, apparently relaxed.

"Since you've found our missing friend Mr. Heinze," Charles said to Soderstrom, "maybe we should let you explain."

"I've met Miss Mirkin on many occasions and of course I've heard of the Hardy Boys. I'm afraid I don't know you, sir."

"My name is Nick Charles. I'm a friend of their father, Fenton Hardy. I still dabble in investigation from time to time."

This seemed to be enough for Soderstrom. He motioned for them to take seats on a sofa and armchairs arranged around a coffee table. He began talking. "As you are all here I can assume you know what my original plan was. Maybe you tailed Mr. Ahlberg from his meeting with Martin Lombard. I suppose all of you compared notes. It goes to show that we're complete amateurs at crime. None of it matters very much now. Mr. Heinze has convinced me to adopt a new strategy."

Frank thought that Soderstrom was naturally a man who spoke little. He paused frequently to consider his words. His voice was quiet. He seemed too shy to give public speeches.

"You're probably all wondering why I'm so keen to help our friends, the Germans. I'm not accustomed to giving lectures. I'll spare you the history lesson."

"You'll have to skip your theories on Atlantis," interrupted Frank.

"We are living at a time in history in which we face unprecedented opportunities and also deep and dangerous threats. You saw the murals down in the lobby? We can create a civilization that can match those achievements, but with the technology of the twentieth century. Germany is the nation that has shown the dynamism, the leadership, the grand vision necessary to build a great new world civilization. They are the rightful masters of the Old World. Soon, very soon, they will be military masters of Europe." As Soderstrom continued to speak his words gained rhetorical fire from his passionate convictions on the subject.

"What about all the nations that are overrun by this military might?" Frank objected. "What about their rights, their hopes?"

Soderstrom furrowed his brow in puzzlement. It seemed he had difficulty finding words to explain what was so obvious to him. "It's as if you were a concrete worker. You have a chance to work on a huge hydroelectric dam. I mean, wouldn't you be thrilled to have the opportunity? You're not an engineer. You couldn't create the project yourself."

"You're saying all these peoples would be happy to be conquered, so they could be part of the great master plan?"

"You've got to remember that the Germans are only doing this for the sake of our people."

"Our people?"

"Yes, the white race. Look, look at this map of the world. Europe is this tiny appendage, dwarfed by the land masses of Africa and Asia with their teeming millions. We are vastly outnumbered. Our hope for mastery lies in our intelligence, our control of technology.

"America faces grave dangers. For too long we have been a melting pot of all the wrong ingredients. We have received with open arms all the dregs of Europe and Asia. We are threatened with being outnumbered in our homeland. Our proud white civilization that so many brilliant men and women have labored so long to build could be dragged down into the primitive swamps. Long, difficult steps will have to be taken to purify ourselves. I don't underestimate the cunning of the Jewish and Communist schemers and their allies among us. But it will be a great day when we are masters of our own house again.

"Germany will be our partners in this, don't you see? We are destined to be masters of the New World as the Germans are of the Old World. We will divide the globe between us. This is where Prof. Heinze changed my view. In order to be full partners America must have the same military tools. We must develop Prof. Heinze's missile system for ourselves. I fully support Mr. Heinze going over to the American authorities. We and Germany would not threaten one another. The two would be like brother nations, with a common vision."

Joe felt a surge of repugnance at the mention of the word 'brother'. "I don't see why we should listen to any more of this garbage," he said, getting to his feet.

"Why are you telling us all this, anyway?" Frank asked.

"I thought that if you heard me out there was a chance you might come around to my way of thinking," replied Soderstrom.

"Fat chance of that," Molly said scornfully.

Charles said, "I need a drink."

Soderstrom indicated the sideboard. "Please. Be my guests. I'm expecting more visitors."

Joe noticed that Soderstrom never sat down during this entire exchange. He seemed awkward in his own office. Joe thought that the man would tear off his suit and jump into the cockpit of an airplane right now if he could. He acted every bit like the war hero and flying ace that Joe expected. That only made it more difficult to listen to his words. What was chilling, Joe realized, was that Soderstrom was only expressing his honest beliefs.

Charles and Soderstrom both pulled out decanters from a shelf in the cabinet and poured themselves drinks. "It seems that Mr. Ahlberg has been detained," said Soderstrom.

"You don't seem too concerned," said Molly.

"I know he's a discreet man."

"But you're all implicated in Heinze's kidnapping."

"Mr. Heinze will tell you that he isn't being held against his will. I don't see how there could be charges."

"And what about the shooting in the theater?"

Soderstrom had a slightly pained frown. "You can't hold me responsible for all the crimes that take place in New York."

"Mr. Soderstrom might relax more," said Frank, "if I told him that one of his hired guns was shot dead in the subway earlier this afternoon. Your friend Mr. Ahlberg is probably arranging to blame the theater shooting and the one in Earl's on the dead man."

"If my young sleuthing friends don't mind," began Charles, "I'd like to take a guess."

"Go ahead," said Joe.

"Mr. Ahlberg is your most trusted colleague," Charles said to Soderstrom. "He isn't only the handler of your hired thugs, he has a more important role. He's your accountant." Soderstorm's only response was to wrinkle his brow. "I don't mean officially, of course. Now, I don't know whether you believe in all this Atlantis baloney. That's none of my business. But it's my guess that most of the funds supposedly donated to your Institute's research are actually being funneled to fascist groups like the Alliance. Mr. Ahlberg's job is to obliterate the paper trail."

"This isn't your area of expertise, though," said Soderstrom drily.

At that moment there was a knocking at the door. The gunman opened it and a figure entered. It was Craig Shelbourne carrying a briefcase.

Heinze greeted him. "Ah, Craig. Have you brought the plans as I asked?"

"Yes," replied Shelbourne. "It was easy to put them together once I had the key." He set the briefcase down on the desk.

"Out of curiosity," said Frank, "where were they hidden?"

Heinze smiled as he explained. "Prof. Coville and I hid them in plain sight. They were in a filing cabinet in his office, but the papers were scattered among the various files. Separated like that they were hardly noticeable. We made a key indicating which page was where."

"When we found you in Prof. Coville's office…", Frank began to say to Shelbourne.

"I was only guessing. But I never found anything then. I didn't know until Prof. Heinze phoned me an hour ago."

"I hate to resort to something as crude as a loaded gun," said Charles, stepping forward with his revolver in his hand, "but I'd like you to hand that briefcase over to me."


	21. Chapter 21

Author's note: I want to thank everyone who has read this far. I hope you aren't too disappointed it isn't a thriller. It's funny that I set the story up as a thriller but one wouldn't materialize!

"What do you think you're doing?" exclaimed Heinze.

"I was thinking that I don't really need Miss Mirkin's help. If I have the original documents I can go directly to a newspaper and have them publish as much of it as they want. The _Daily Telegram_ is just the sort of cheap, sensationalist tabloid that would go for a stunt like that. Once the American people realize the reach of German military ambitions, what a threat they pose, your dream of cooperation to divide up the globe like a giant watermelon is dead."

Charles seized the briefcase and, training his revolver on Soderstrom, backed up towards the door. "I'm sure that this office has a functioning intercom and you can use it to call off your goon in front. Oh, and thanks for the scotch. It's terrific stuff."

Soderstrom did as Charles suggested. Charles slipped out the door.

"He's not going to get far," Shelbourne said matter-of-factly. They did not have to wait long for his prognostication to be proven correct. Charles was escorted back into the room by two burly men.

Shelbourne introduced them. "These are two F.B.I. agents, Mr. Lloyd and Mr. Alexander. I have to tell you that I've been the agency's contact in the engineering department at New York University."

"You guys took long enough to get involved," chided Molly.

"Prof. Heinze could explain to you that he needed time to think. He didn't quite trust us. Events, you could say, forced his hand."

Joe said to Shelbourne, "You spent yesterday afternoon in Mr. Heinze's apartment trying to convince him to go to the F.B.I. It was your cigarette butt we found." Shelbourne nodded. "You were also in the doorway across the street, waiting for him, the night before."

"Craig told me about the F.B.I.'s interest when I landed," said Heinze. "Even though I hadn't decided what to do, I kept him informed."

"Did you see Toots Mayall following them?" queried Joe.

"You mean the trumpeter? I noticed him. I figured he was jealous over the girl. I didn't worry about him. I was keeping a watch for the German spies. They might have tracked Prof. Heinze down."

"I have a suspicion," Molly said, "that the Bureau doesn't particularly like you, Mr. Heinze. They'd be perfectly happy to see the German spies deal with you so long as the U.S. gets its hands on the missile plans."

The agents ignored Molly's remark. Lloyd said to Soderstrom, "The Bureau is very grateful for your assistance in this matter."

"You can count on me," Soderstrom replied with a quick nod.

Lloyd and Alexander led Charles to the door. "What's going to happen to you?" Joe asked Charles.

"I believe they intend to charge me with the theft of the missile plans, now that they're secret government documents. I guess this means your high school isn't going to invite me to give an inspirational speech to the students any time soon."

"It doesn't seem right," said Joe.

"I knew you two had a _little_ sympathy for my cause. Don't worry about me. I think I still have enough friends in the right places to keep my humble self out of prison." He shrugged. "Give my respects to your father, won't you?" Charles made a little wave as he was taken out the door.

"Did you get what you were hoping for?" Frank asked Heinze.

"There's something that we couldn't deliver," said Shelbourne. "They probably won't want the professor to be director of the American version of the missile project. I've heard that they'll likely choose someone less controversial, someone American."

"Someone like Martin Lombard?" said Frank with some bitterness.

"Speaking strictly off the record, and just as my personal opinion," Shelbourne said, "I think the Bureau wasn't happy that Prof. Heinze was trying to play the situation to his advantage instead of taking one side or the other. There was the feeling he couldn't be trusted."

"You mean, if he could be a traitor once he could be again," said Joe, sharing his brother's indignation.

Molly added, "There's also the matter of the sort of people Mr. Heinze associates with. I can't imagine that the higher-ups in the Bureau had much sympathy for that."

"Well, that's your opinion," said Shelbourne. "I didn't hear them make a single derogatory remark about Mr. Heinze's personal life."

Molly shrugged. "I wonder what sort of notes are in his F.B.I. file."

Heinze didn't seem to care. He was smiling. "But Craig tells me the Air Force authorities are interested in locating the project in the desert in New Mexico. It would have the advantage of being far from civilian populations. It would be easier to maintain high security. For Olivia, Charlie and I, it would mean a new start. Think of it, a virtual new town dedicated to engineering advancement!"

Seeing Heinze and Soderstrom standing together in Soderstrom's office got under Joe's skin for some reason. "It's only an engineering problem to you. I thought you said it was madness!"

"Sometimes I feel that way. I question what I am doing. But it is my career."

Joe knew it was wrong to make his outburst but he said nothing more. He realized that Heinze had talked himself out of a lethal situation and that he had no common ground with Soderstrom's views. He had to admit that Heinze had a knack for landing on his feet.

Molly looked at Soderstrom. "I could still print a story exposing your ties to the Alliance. I may not have evidence in black and white but I'm a witness to what you've said."

Soderstrom smiled awkwardly. "You might write such a story but if your newspaper printed it I would, of course, deny it strenuously. I would take legal action against your newspaper. My lawyers would accuse you of mounting a smear campaign. No one would support your claims, not Mr. Ahlberg, not Mr. Heinze, not the F.B.I. I have powerful friends who value me as a spokesman for their causes. I think Mr. Heinze will find it in his interest to cooperate with us. No, I'm afraid your newspaper wouldn't take the risk of backing you." If Soderstrom felt smug he did not let it show.

Frank was stirred to anger. "I don't care about your isolationist lobbying efforts. I know you won't succeed. It's bad enough that the U.S. has allowed fascism to spread its ugliness over the globe. It would never stand by while German tanks rolled over western Europe."

"You're being naïve, young man. Politicians won't move until public opinion demands it. The American people have no appetite for armed conflict. The U.S. will be stalled in neutral for many years to come. By the time it acts, if it ever does, German armies will be on the beaches of the Atlantic."

"I can't believe that!"

"A man who is in the know gave me a piece of advice. He said, 'If you're planning on taking a vacation to Paris you'd better go sooner rather than later.'" Soderstrom grinned at his joke but looked away, as if he was too much of a gentleman to offend the Hardys.

When they were back on the street Molly said her farewells. "So long, boys. We've got to work on a case together some time." For the first time she flashed a smile at them that seemed genuine and affectionate.

"Sure," said Joe, giving her a mischievous grin, "call us when you have tickets to the Himalayas."

"Oh, I'll get there, you can count on that. But I think I'll soon have a war to cover."

"Sorry the story didn't work out," Frank added.

"Yes, well. I was thinking about my working arrangement with Nick Charles. Some Communist! But I don't want that being brought up. Not to worry, though. Another story will cross my desk Monday morning."

Shelbourne offered rides to the Hardys and Heinze which they accepted.

Joe felt tired. The day seemed to have gone on too long. His brain felt overloaded with all the listening and thinking he had done. He longed to sink back into the car seat and not have to talk.

The sky was turning violet-blue. Night in the city flickered into life, illuminated by the cool glow of neon. Joe looked at a film theater they were passing. The lights were pulsing as if moving to a jive dance beat that could not be heard. Joe felt a cold touch of guilt to see crowds of people lining up to buy tickets so they could scream at some Bela Lugosi horror movie.

Joe looked up at the cloudless sky and for a moment imagined Stuka dive bombers attacking. This was what the dreams of the master race amounted to, he thought – old people huddled in each other's arms, children screaming, people looking up helplessly at the skies.

Frank said to Heinze, "I have some mixed feelings about how this case has turned out. Things were simpler when we arrested counterfeiters or recovered stolen art works. I'm glad, though, that you're so enthusiastic about your future."

"You boys are only beginning your twentieth century education," Heinze said. "You will see much before it is over. I think that you will be unique witnesses to the history of this century, always with a fresh and youthful view."

"I think all of us will be swept into war before long. What can we do?" Frank was speaking to himself as much as to Heinze.

Heinze's usual grin was gone. His face was that of a man steeling himself to step out into the cold. "Those who have the opportunity will do what duty demands of them. The rest of us can only wait, suffer, and dream that a new, better world will emerge from this."


End file.
